


Knight Errant

by Medievalchic



Series: Blood Vassal [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claiming, F/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medievalchic/pseuds/Medievalchic
Summary: When a hellgod's mistake leaves him chipless and unrestrained, Spike must choose between his own bloodlust and earning the trust of the woman he loves.  But can a soulless vampire really give up the hunt of his own free will?  And how can Spike earn Buffy's trust if he can't risk letting her know his secret?Beta'd by Sunnydalesis and flootzavut.





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> AN: When I first started posting, I couldn't figure out how to keep my italics properly formatted, so I tried to get around it a number of awkward ways. I have recently learned how to keep the italics and have gone back and edited the earliest chapters to include them. So if you're following along and go back to re-read earlier chapters, they might look slightly different (but hopefully clearer). If you just started reading and have no idea what I'm talking about, you can just ignore this message. Thanks for reading!

"What the hell is that and why is his hair that color?" 

The creature in question glared up at the hellgod as he struggled against the pincer-like grip of her minions. Spike shook his head, willing it to clear.  The scabby hobbits had knocked him out somewhere between Restfield and the abandoned apartment building.  He'd only regained consciousness in the downstairs lobby, just in time to hear the little wankers yammering on about how pleased Glorificus would be when Her Mellifluousness found out that they had recovered her lost Key.

So he knew this was somehow about the Slayer and her sister.  What he didn't know was why in the hell the hobbits had kidnapped _him._   Wouldn't it have made more sense to go after one of the Scoobies?  

Unfortunately, Spike hadn't had time to contemplate his situation before they reached Glory's apartment.  They'd found the hellgod lounging on a garish sofa, lazily flipping through a copy of _Cosmopolitan._   She stood as they entered, wrinkling her nose in contempt.

He returned her look with a disgusted glare of his own.  Glory was dressed in a slinky blue number that looked more like lingerie than a dress, and her bad perm reminded Spike of nothing so much as a wet poodle.  

This was the bitch what was threatening his Niblet?  Chit wasn't fit to clean the toilets of Revello Drive.

But as Glory drew closer, Spike's defiance melted into alarm.  His vampiric senses sounded alarm bells as he felt the waves of power roll off her, mixing with her heavy perfume to nauseating effect.  The hellgod might look like a tart, but the demon in him recognized instinctively that she could be very, very dangerous.

He needed to get out of here.  Quickly.

Unfortunately, the minions holding onto him were stronger than they looked, and they had other plans.  

"Stunning One," one of them said breathlessly, "we believe he is...". The minion paused for dramatic effect, exchanging an excited look with his mate..."the Key!"  The brainless little wankers shoved him forward slightly, proud expressions planted across their ugly little faces.  Spike swallowed a snort.

Glory smiled unpleasantly.  " _Really?_ " she asked with a false little giggle.  "That's fantabulous!"  She swatted at one of the minions.  "And impossible."

Spike kept his face as neutral as possible as Glory circled him.

"He can't be the Key because...see...the Key has to be pure."  She sniffed gracelessly at his chest.  "This is a vampire.  Lesson Number One: A vampire equals impure."

_S'my whole bloody problem, innit?_  Spike thought bitterly. _Not demon enough for Dru, not man enough for Buffy.  Impure either way you look._   Caught in the gray netherworld 'tween dark and light, rejected by both.  But maybe it could work to his advantage at the moment.

"Yeah," he managed, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice.  Swallowing hard, he summoned his bravado.  "Damn right, I'm impure!  I'm impure as the driven yellow snow!  Lemme go."

Glory ignored him.  "You can't even brain-suck a vampire," she told her minions, patting his chest as she spoke.  "He's completely useless."

Spike hoped she was the sort of monster that let useless things scamper away unhurt instead of the sort what killed them just for the hell of it.  He rather doubted it.  He knew from experience that most of the nasties on the Hellmouth didn't work that way.

"So..I'm just gonna let myself out," he tried anyway.  One of the minions blocked his path.  

"But Your Holiness," it sniveled, "we observed the Slayer.  She protected this one above all others.  She treated him as...precious."

Spike groaned internally.  So that was why they had taken him.  It was because of the damn Bot.  The minions had made the same assumption Harris had.  They'd mistaken the robot for the real thing.

Did no one in this sodding town give the poor bird any credit?  Even her mates seemed genuinely afraid she'd taken up with him.  Was he the only bloke in Sunnydale who knew Buffy would never touch a worthless git like himself?  The bleedin' impossibility of it all was what drove him to order the Bot in the first place.  Now the damn thing was gonna get him tortured and killed by a bint who wasn't worth the Slayer's little finger.

It was just too bloody ironic.

Glory was looking at him with renewed interest.  "Really?" she replied speculatively.  "Precious?"  The word came out silky and dangerous.  Spike recoiled as she drew nearer again. The demon inside him was screaming for him to escape.  He was growing more and more desperate to obey it.

"Let's take a peek at you, precious."  Glory ran a newly appreciative eye over his body.  Spike cringed as her gaze drifted invasively over him.  

"Sod off," he growled.

Without warning, Spike found himself flying through the air.  His back slammed against a wall with a sickening thud, the plaster breaking all around him from the force of the blow.

Bollocks.  Chit could hit even harder than a Slayer.  And it wasn't nearly as enjoyable as when Buffy did it.  This could get ugly fairly quickly.

Glory sauntered over to him before he'd recovered enough strength to stand.  She grabbed Spike roughly by the hair and yanked his head upwards.  He met her gaze squarely, forcing all the contempt he could muster into his own.  He could feel blood begin to trickle down the crack that now split his lip.

"He doesn't look very fancy to me," she said.  The hellgod lifted Spike with one arm and tossed him roughly onto her oversized bed.  "But if the Slayer protects him, maybe appearances are deceiving."

Glory climbed on top of him and grabbed his throat, squeezing tightly.  Even without the need for oxygen it still hurt like hell.  She straddled him lasciviously and Spike was suddenly reminded of the games he had been playing with the BuffyBot just hours ago.

Except unlike the Bot, Glory really would use a weapon on him.  And unlike the real Slayer, she couldn't be counted upon to give him a clean end.

This was going to hurt.

"What do you know, precious?  What can I dig out of you?"  Glory gave him a speculative look.

Spike's stomach gave a sickening clench as she held up a single blood-red nail.  He steeled himself for pain, realizing what was coming.  Drusilla had liked to play with her victims that way as well, and he'd been on the receiving end often enough to know how much damage could be inflicted with sharp fingernails.

Glory gave him a malicious smile.  "Maybe there's something on the _inside,"_ she cooed, and plunged her finger straight into his chest.

She tortured him for several hours.  

Spike did his best not to give in to the pain, but hellgod was strong.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd suffered so many broken bones.  Several times, he broke down and screamed for mercy.  But then Glory would begin interrogating him about the Key, and Spike's mind would be assaulted by horrifying images.

His sweet Bit, subjected to the same torture.  Buffy, sobbing over her sister's lifeless form.  Even Joyce, cold in her grave, rose in his mind to accuse him of betraying her daughters.

So he kept his mouth shut and focused on enduring the pain.  Luckily for him, Glory didn't seem to be a creative torturer.  Terrifying as they were, she really only used her fists and her fingernails.  And...she didn't seem interested in anything more...intimate.  That, at least, was a relief.

But no sooner than the thought had crossed his mind than Glory's eyes lit with an eerie hunger.  Spike's stomach dropped.  He recognized the look.  She'd been struck with an idea _._

"You know, precious," she said softly, "your dried-up little brain might be useless as food, but I bet it can still _hurt_ , can't it?"  She leaned down and whispered into his ear.  "Let's see what interesting things I can find beneath those blond curls."

Spike's eyes widened as he registered what she meant.  Glory flexed her fingers and smiled eagerly.  He let out a bloodcurdling scream as she dug her nails deep into his skull.  

It was like nothing he had ever suffered before.  The hellgod's fingers defied every rule of science or magic he knew, intangible enough to slip through flesh and bone and organ without killing her victim but present enough to send jolts of blinding pain through his brain.  It was like being strapped to an electric chair, only worse.  

No wonder all her human victims went mad.

Suddenly, Glory paused.  "Well, well, well!  What is this?" she asked excitedly.  "What has the little bloodsucker been hiding in his head?"  

Spike felt her withdraw her fingers.  For several minutes, all he could do was gasp away the aftershock of having his brain rummaged through like a trunk full of old clothes.  But when he'd recovered enough to open his eyes, he blinked at the sight of Glory cradling a tiny, blood-covered piece of silicone in her manicured hands.

It was the chip.

A strange emotion surged through Spike as he stared at it.  His tormentor had just relieved him of the torture device that had plagued his existence for nearly two years.  It wouldn't really matter because Glory was probably going to torture him until he dusted anyway, but still... 

He was free.  

Spike shoved the thought aside, swallowing his emotions.  It wouldn't do to let Glory know she'd just relieved him of one of the greatest burdens of his unlife.  He steeled himself as she leaned in closer, willing his head to clear.

"Now listen closely, precious," Glory purred, stroking his cheek softly.  "I'm gonna give you one chance to tell me what this is and I want you to think very carefully about how you answer because your miserable little existence depends upon it.  Understood?"

Spike nodded slowly.  Glory smiled down at him.  "Good.  Now...what is it?"

The answer came to him in a flash of inspiration.  He slumped his shoulders, feigning defeat.

"The Key," he gasped.  "It's...it's the Key.  Slayer put it inside me.  Said no one would ever think to look inside a vampire's head."

Glory seemed mildly impressed.  "Clever girl," she said.  "Still, she's dealing with a god. She should know better than to underestimate her enemy."

_So should you,_  Spike thought darkly.

But he held his tongue and watched as Glory sniffed the chip carefully.  She wrinkled her nose.  “It might be the Key,” she began slowly, “but who could tell when it’s covered with all your disgusting vampire blood?”  She tapped it impatiently.  “How do you access it in this form?”

Spike shrugged.  "Dunno.  'M just the carrier.  Don't know much about it otherwise."

Glory looked skeptical.  "But if you had it in your head, you must know something about how to operate it."

"I'm impure, right?" Spike retorted.  "What do I know 'bout mystical Keys?  Just glad to have it out of my noggin."  He tried to look innocent.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "I think you're lying."

"'M not, I swear!"

"Maybe..." Glory hesitated.  "There's really only one way to find out."  She turned to her minions.  "String him up."

Spike's heart sank.  He'd thought for sure he'd found his ticket out of this mess.  Now he realized he might have dug himself even deeper.  It might take awhile—he didn’t reckon ancient hellgods knew much about modern technology--but eventually even a stupid bint like Glory would figure out that the Initiative chip wasn't the Key.

Glory's minions hustled him to the middle of the living room, tying his hands with rope and stretching him to the ceiling.  He gritted his teeth, dreading a second onslaught of pain.  He noticed dully that they'd positioned him carefully in front of a window.  A small beam of morning light peeped through the closed curtains, falling several feet in front of him.  Evidently Glory intended to vary up her torture routine by getting frisky with the sunlight.

Good.  Eventually she would give up on getting any more information, and then dusting him would be a simple as opening the curtains all the way.  It wasn't as glorious as going out by the Slayer's hand, but at least it was a way out.  He didn't have to endure this indefinitely.  He just had to keep his mouth shut about Dawn until Glory gave up.

Spike straightened his back, glaring at Glory with everything he had.  He could do this.  He could hold out against her, at least until she ended him.  Buffy would never know about it, but at least she and Dawn would be safe a little while longer.  He just had to survive the next few hours.

For the first time in over a century, Spike found himself unexpectedly grateful for all the times he'd been at his grandsire's mercy.  No matter how strong she was, Glory was a bleedin' idiot.  She didn't have Angelus' imagination or Drusilla's flare for the perverse or even the clinical coldness of Maggie Walsh.

When it came to torture, Spike had previous.  He could outlast this bitch.

 

*************

 

_This really is the last straw,_ Buffy thought grimly as she and Xander sped up the sidewalk on the outskirt of the park.  The group had split up to search the local buildings for where Glory might be hiding.  There weren't a lot of expensive residential spots in Sunnydale, so she doubted the hunt would take long.  

Of course, the idiot sexbot still thought they were on a rescue mission.

_I'm gonna dust him so hard.  No, I'm gonna beat him up and then dust him.  No, rip the head off that damn robot and then beat him up and THEN dust him._

Stupid vampire with his stupid perverted obsession with her.  What was his problem, anyway?  What kind of twisted creature of the night went all moony over the person chosen to kill him?

Not that it was actually love or anything.  The robot just proved what she had known all along.  However much Spike claimed to love her, he couldn't feel anything more than lust.  There was really no telling what he'd been doing with the horrible thing.

Buffy shuddered.  He was probably bargaining with Glory at that very moment, trying to swing for an upgrade to the real deal in exchange for information on the Scoobies.  All she had to do was throw in a chip removal surgery like Adam had and the bleached menace would be spilling the beans about Dawn and anything else Glory wanted to know.  Hell, for all Buffy knew, he'd already outed them all and was busy living the high life while Glory went after her little sister.

Dawn could be in danger right now.

_All the more reason to find Spike and Glory,_ she told herself firmly.  Tara was watching Dawn back at the Magic Shop.  Her magic might not be equal to Willow's but Tara was clever, and the protection spell around the shop should keep Dawnie safe for a little while longer.  The first step was to figure out how much Spike had told Glory and what their next move was likely to be.

And dust him.  Definitely dust him.

A prod from Xander brought her back into the present moment.  He pointed to a large white building that overlooked the park.

"That place looks expensive," he said.

Buffy eyed the garish building with distaste.  It certainly looked like the sort of place Glory would set up shop.

"Okay, we'll try there first.  Check the penthouse suite.  I don't think she'd stay in anything less."

Xander nodded.  A few minutes later, they pushed through the swinging door and entered the ostentatious lobby.  The place was eerily quiet, as if it had been abandoned.  Buffy had the funny feeling that most of the other inhabitants were now sleeping in the mental illness ward of the hospital.

"Should we take the stairs, you think?" Xander whispered.

Buffy nodded in agreement.  "Best try to keep a low profile till we know what we're dealing with."

The tiptoed up the stairs, making their slow way up to the last floor.  As they reached the final flight, Buffy heard Glory's shrill voice shouting angrily at someone.  The sound of shattering glass made her jump.

"'I need time, I need a drink,' she heard the hell god yell.  "You're a very needy little bloodsucker and it's not very attractive!"

Buffy motioned to Xander to stop.  The two of them huddled just outside Glory's door, listening intently.

"So start talking."  Glory's voice was a bit calmer.

There was a short pause, then Spike's voice spoke.  It had a quiet, curiously raspy quality about it.

"Yeah...okay...the Key...here's the thing...to activate it...you have to stick it up your skanky, lopsided ass and let the Slayer kick it back to whatever place would take a cheap, whorish, fashion victim ex-god like you!"

Buffy's jaw dropped.  She glanced at Xander.  His eyes were wide in shock.  The stared at one another in silence while Glory's voice rose to a screech again.

"How _dare_ you!  I am a _god_!”

"The god of what?  Bad home perms?"

For several minutes, the sound of fists hitting flesh filled the air, mixed with grunts and moans from Spike.  

"You think you're real funny, don't ya, precious?" Glory hissed.  "You wanna see something really hilarious?  It's just here behind these curtains.  Whaddya say I give you a peek?"

Buffy decided she had listened long enough.  Motioning Xander to step back, she delivered a solid kick to the wooden door.  It came down with a loud crash.

For a moment, everything froze as Buffy took in the scene before her.  The room was crowded with Glory's weird little minions.  The hellgod herself was standing in front of a large window, one hand still gripping the luxurious curtains.  And in the center was Spike, wrists tied to the ceiling and covered in a mess of blood and bruises.

Glory recovered a split second before Buffy did.

"What are you waiting for?" she yelled at her minions.  "Get them!"

Everyone swung into action.  The minions converged on Xander. Buffy herself faced off with the hellgod.  Glory gave her a malicious leer.

"Sorry to be a downer right before I kill you, sweet pea, but you're too late.  Your little leech has gone and given me everything I need."

Buffy's heart leaped into her throat.  Dawn.

Glory's smile grew wider as she saw Buffy's expression.  "That's right," she said triumphantly, and held up a small purse.  "Got my Key right here, all safe and sound and mine."

Fear melted into confusion as Buffy eyed the handbag.  What was she talking about?  What had Spike told her?

Buffy didn't have time to think about it, however, because a few seconds later she was flying into the wall.  Crap.  They were in over their heads.  There was no way she could outfight Glory in a direct battle.  And if her minions had managed to capture a master vampire, there was no way Xander would be able to hold off so many of them for very long.

As if on cue, the elevator dinged and the rest of the Scoobies came pouring out.  Giles and Anya rushed straight for Xander, who was being backed slowly into a precarious corner.  Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw her chirpy doppelgänger rush toward Spike.  The sexbot did surprisingly well, knocking out two minions before being thrown against the elevator controls.  It slumped to the floor, electrical circuits sizzling.

Buffy swallowed as Glory advanced on her.  If she didn't find a way to get them all out of here, she might meet the same fate as the robot.  She scrambled to her feet.

"This isn't over," she told Glory.

Glory gave her an indulgent smile.  "Oh, sweetheart, I think it is."

But before the hellgod could raise her fist, there was a loud clap.

_"Discede!"_

Glory disappeared.  

"Your Holiness!  Glorificus is gone!" The largest minion began shouting at his companions.  "The little witch has done something to her!  Search the apartment!  Search the park!  Search everywhere!"  Within moments, they had all vanished.

Buffy watched wide-eyed as Willow pulled herself to her feet, covering her bleeding nose with a hand.  Giles gave her a hand.

"I thought you weren't gonna try that one again, Will," Buffy said shakily.  The last time she'd done the spell, she'd gone into a faint as well.

Willow gave a small shrug.  "I have to practice it somehow.  Anyway, I figured you needed the help."

"That was a very dangerous move, Willow," Giles said reprovingly.  "And I'm not sure it's wise to consider fighting a hellgod 'practice.'"  He paused.  "Still, I don't suppose we had much in the way of alternatives."

They were distracted from further argument by a moan from the middle of the room.  Spike was still dangling from the ceiling.  The Scoobies fell into silence as they looked at him in horror.  

Buffy approached him quietly, her mind reeling.  Glory had been...thorough...in her interrogations.  The Slayer knew from experience that it took a lot to make a vampire of Spike's age and strength look like ground meat.  She must have been torturing him all night long.

But why?  Surely Spike would have cooperated without it?  And she had said...

"Spike!" Buffy's voice came out harsher than she intended.  He looked up at her, one eye swollen shut.  She continued, more softly. "Glory said she had the Key."

He shook his head.  "Doesn't," he rasped.  "Thinks she does.  Lied to her, stupid bint."

Buffy raised an eyebrow.  "What did you tell her?"

Spike was silent for a long moment.  Buffy felt herself grow impatient.  "Spike, what did you tell her?" she repeated.

He looked down at the floor, licking his cracked lips.  "Told her...told her it was my ring.  The one with the skull.  She took it.  Put it in her little bag."  He raised his head again, meeting her square in the eye.  "Dint say nothin' 'bout Niblet."

Buffy's mind went numb.  He hadn't said anything?   _Why_ hadn’t he said anything?

No, this couldn't be right.  Spike was lying.  He was playing them, like he'd done with Adam last year.

But then why would Glory torture him?

Maybe he'd given into the pain and blabbed the truth to her and now he was just trying to cover his tracks.  He knew that he was vulnerable right now, that she would probably stake him over this.  He was just trying to save his own skin.  

Yes, that made more sense...

As if he could hear her thoughts, Spike jutted out his chin defiantly.  "Go on.  Make it quick."

Buffy blinked in confusion.

Spike gave her a long look.  "Not stupid, Slayer," he said darkly.  "Know I don't warrant a rescue mission.  So go on.  Do what you came for."  

He straightened as best he could, presenting her with a clear target.  Buffy hesitated.  She should do it.  He was evil.  He deserved it.  It was probably more merciful to put him out of his misery.  And he was probably lying anyway...

But the image of Glory holding up a tiny handbag in triumph gave her pause.  What if he _was_ telling the truth?  What if he--despite everything she knew about vampire behavior--what if he actually did protect Dawn?

Buffy swallowed hard.  She had to make a decision.

She took a couple of steps closer to him.  Slowly, she tucked her stake in the back of her jeans and withdrew the knife in her boot.  She raised it up to his throat with a shaky hand.

Spike's eyes widened slightly.  Buffy saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Stake to the heart not good enough for you, Slayer?" he asked.  "That's not gonna take m'head off clean."

Buffy lifted the knife above his head and began to saw at the rope.  She kept her eyes fixed on his.  The defiant expression on Spike’s face slowly shifted to confusion and then finally to awe as it dawned on him what she was doing.

The Scoobies watched in bewildered silence as she worked.  They kept to the edge of the room, seemingly reluctant to take in the full scope of Spike’s injuries.  They let out a collective gasp, however, when moments later he collapsed onto the floor, limbs twisted at odd angles like a grotesque marionette. Their eyes flitted back and forth between the horrifying image and Buffy’s face, clearly wondering what the hell was going on.

And as she contemplated the broken vampire in front of her, Buffy realized that she once again had no answers to give them.


	2. Decisions

The girls in the Magic Box were pensive and quiet.  

Dawn was working on her algebra homework, but Buffy could see her eyes flicking to the door--and then to her sister--every few minutes.  Tara sat next to her, stroking her hair maternally, but occasionally she too looked over at the door with worry in her eyes.  Buffy knew how they felt.  She'd been pacing across the shop for the past thirty minutes, until an irritated Anya had finally handed her a broom and told her to make herself useful.  But even Anya appeared anxious.  Buffy noticed that she had stopped counting the cash in the register and had begun making some sort of poultice behind the counter.

Only Willow seemed content.  She was cheerfully performing exploratory surgery on Spike's robot, which lay supine across the table.  Buffy couldn't bear to watch.  There was something eerie about seeing herself so broken, dead eyes staring blankly out at the room as her best friend dug into her back with gruesome enthusiasm.

Suddenly the bell rang and Giles and Xander stumbled through the front door of the shop.   Anya rushed to her boyfriend's side and shoved him into a chair.  "Here, sit down," she said forcefully.  "I'm almost done making a salve."

"It's just cuts and bruises, Ahn," Xander said, looking slightly embarrassed.

Anya ignored him.  "Cuts and bruises can leave scars," she snapped.  "Ugly scars across your face that I'll have to look at every day."  She returned to the counter and continued mashing herbs, muttering something under her breath as she did so.

Buffy looked at Giles as he slowly sank into another chair, shoulders slumping with exhaustion.

"Is he...?" she asked uncertainly.

Giles glanced up at her.  "We left him in his crypt."

"Did he...?"

The Watcher shook his head.  "No, he didn't say anything else." He paused.  "His injuries may have been too severe.  He fell into a faint between the car and the crypt."

Buffy furrowed her brow.  It was nearly noon.  "How did you manage to avoid the sun?"

"We wrapped him in the sheets from her bed and carried him," Xander said quietly.

"Is anyone ever going to tell me what's going on?" Dawn asked.  Her voice held a slight tremor, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

The Scoobies exchanged glances.

"I'm sure it’s nothing to worry about, Dawn," Giles said carefully.

"Right.  And Spike built a robot Buffy to play checkers with," Dawn said, still managing an eye roll through her fear.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at Tara, who blushed slightly.  "It sounded good in my head," she said apologetically.

"I'm not a child," Dawn said.  "If we're so fine, you guys wouldn't be acting like the entire world just ended.  What's going on?"

Buffy swallowed.  Her sister was right.  If Glory knew where they were, it wouldn't do Dawn any good not to know what had happened.

"It's Glory, Dawnie," she said slowly, trying to make her voice sound as calm as possible.  "Last night she...well, she kidnapped Spike.  She...hurt him."

Dawn's eyes widened.  "Is he okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Buffy said.  "But...he might have said something to her.  Glory might know about you."

"How do you know he's okay?  I mean, if he's been hurt, why did you just leave him alone?  Shouldn't we be trying to help him?"

Buffy sighed.  "Did you even hear me, Dawn?  Glory might be on her way.  We need to be prepared.  And we need to find out what he told her."

"How do you know he said anything?  Why would she hurt him if he gave her what she wanted?"

"Glory said she had the Key," Buffy said, more sharply than she intended.

"Clearly she doesn't!  I'm still here!"  Dawn's eyes were filling dangerously.  "Someone needs to be helping him."

"What did Glory say, exactly?" Tara asked.

Buffy looked at her uncertainly.  "That's the thing," she said.  "It was weird.  She held up this little purse and said she had the Key in it.  Spike...Spike said he gave her his ring." She glanced over at Willow.  "You know, the one from the spell?  He said that he told her it was the Key."

"And is there any way to verify his statement?" Giles asked, wiping his glasses.  "Do any of us know whether Spike was wearing his ring last night?  He couldn't have given her what he didn't have with him."

Tara nodded.  "That makes sense.  So...who saw him last?"

Several pairs of eyes turned toward Xander.  His face reddened.  "What?  It's not like I’d notice a guy's jewelry!  I don't know if he was wearing a ring or not."

Buffy's stomach made a weird little flip.  She would know if she saw Spike with the ring on. It was the only engagement ring she'd ever received and it gave her a funny feeling every time she saw it on his hand.  

But he didn't sport it frequently, and she had been gone all night.  She had no way of knowing if he had been wearing it when he was kidnapped.  

"Glory did seem to think the Key was, you know, purse-sized," she said hesitantly.  "Maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Giles asked pointedly.  "Maybe an evil soulless vampire endured countless hours of torture to protect a teenage girl?  Is that what you think, Buffy?"

Buffy bit her lip.  "I don't know," she whispered.  When he put it that way, it sounded ridiculous.

"Well, I wouldn't," Anya said shortly, looking up from her poultice.  "If I was being tortured by a hellgod, I'd give her whatever she wanted."

"Anya!" Xander groaned.

"What?" she said.  "It's nothing personal.  Torture hurts.  Trust me, most of the men I punished broke down within the first minute."

"Too much information, Ahn," Xander said, looking worriedly at Dawn.

Dawn shook her head.  "It's okay," she said quietly, surprising them all.  Buffy hadn't gotten the impression her sister liked Anya very much.  "I'd give me up too," Dawn continued.  "But Spike's _not_ me and if his story works with what Glory said about having the Key in her purse..."

"There are other possibilities, Dawn," Giles interrupted.  "He might have given her information.  A slip of folded paper can fit as easily into a handbag as a ring can."

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they all digested that frightening possibility.  Buffy watched as Willow tinkered with the robot, ignoring the debate as she poked around its wires with disturbing enjoyment.  

There was a small spark and Willow gave a cry of excitement.  "Hey!  I think I found something!"

"What is it, Will?" Buffy asked, trying not to be annoyed at her friend's apparent lack of interest in the life-or-death conversation going on around her.

"I found where she's broken," Willow explained with a triumphant grin.  "Some of these wires got fried extra crispy.  It's an easy fix."

Her enthusiasm faded a bit, however, as she saw the shocked expressions on the others' faces.  Buffy raised an eyebrow.  Willow made an apologetic retreat.  "I mean...not that I would," she said hurriedly, looking back down at her work.

Buffy eyed the robot on the table with distaste.  She'd known Spike was a creep, what with his weird stalker shrine to her and all, but this was a whole new level of offensive.  What had he been thinking?  Surely he hadn't thought he could keep it a secret?  

This was just like him.  Smart enough to lie during torture, dumb enough to risk getting staked over sex.

But that was the whole problem, wasn't it?  They didn't know who was getting the lie, them or Glory.  And they really needed to know.  Quickly.  If Dawn's identity was blown, they all needed to get the hell out of Dodge.  

Buffy glanced over at her sister.  Dawn had given up arguing with Giles and was trying to concentrate on her algebra once more.  But Buffy could see that her cheeks were wet and the pencil was trembling in her hand.

Buffy's stomach did another flip.  She was going to lose her little sister.  Dawn was the last bit of family she had left and she couldn't even protect her and Glory was going to--

"There!  All done!"

Anya's voice broke through Buffy's morbid thoughts, dragging her back into the present.  Anya marched briskly to where her boyfriend was sitting and began slapping a nasty-looking paste across the cuts on his face.

Xander yelped as his skin sizzled.  "What the hell is that stuff?"

"Well, I'm sorry," Anya snapped.  "Healing's not really my thing.  This is the only medicine I know how to make."  She leaned forward to dab some more on his forehead, but Xander scooted out of reach.  

"It feels like my entire face is on fire!" he complained.

"Don't be such a baby," she said.  "If you would just hold still a moment--"

He let out a second yelp as she managed to make contact with his skin again.  "You know it doesn't really count as medicine if it takes my scalp off, right?"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"It feels like you're trying to kill me!"

Tara stood up.  

"Here, let me help," she said gently.  "I can tone it down a bit."

For a moment, Anya looked like she was about to protest.  But then her face softened a bit and she handed Tara the bowl.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

Tara inspected the poultice with a sniff.  "It seems like you've got the basics right.  It just needs a couple more ingredients to take the sting out."  She took the bowl back to the counter and went to work.

After a few moments of eyeing her uncertainly, Anya sat down next to Xander.  She held his hand lightly as he squeezed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pain.  As she watched him, her expression grew more tender than Buffy had ever seen it.

"I change my mind," she said softly, "about the torture.  If Glory had me...I wouldn't give up Xander."

Her boyfriend stopped squirming for a moment to give her a look of intense adoration.

Giles cleared his throat.  "That's very generous of you, Anya, but this is Spike we're talking about."

"So," Tara said from behind the counter "I guess the real question is...does Spike care about Buffy and Dawn as much as Anya cares about Xander?"

"Of course he does!" Dawn piped up again.  She gave her sister a reproving look.  "You know he does, Buffy."

Buffy hesitated.  "I dunno."  She looked up at her friends.  "What does everyone else think?  Can we trust his story?"

The Scoobies looked at each other awkwardly.

Tara spoke first.  

"If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said no, don't trust him," she said quietly.  "But after hearing what he went through, I'm not so sure.  I think maybe we've--I mean _I've_ \--misjudged him."  She looked back down at her work.

Buffy nodded.  "Xander?"

Xander looked uncomfortable.  "I don't know.  I kinda feel bad for the guy.  I mean, he was so whupped."  He paused.  "But he's Spike, you know?  He just sort of gets under your skin.  Maybe Glory just tortured him because he got too annoying."

That idea hadn't occurred to Buffy, but it made sense.  She wouldn't put it past Spike to give Glory what she needed and then proceed to shoot himself in the foot and get on her cranky side.

"Anya?"

Anya shrugged.  "I don't know either.  I mean, some vampires have been known to be protective of their nests-"  Giles seemed about to argue, but she shot him an annoyed look and continued  “-but I've never known one to go this far."

"Dawn and I aren't his nest," Buffy said shortly, although she had the uncomfortable feeling that he probably did think of them that way.  She ignored the thought.  "Giles?"

"Don't I get a vote?" Dawn interrupted.

"No," Buffy snapped.  "You're underage.  Besides, I already know what you think."

"You already know what I think as well," Giles said.  "However much we may feel compassion for his injuries, Spike is still a soulless creature.  Whatever he does is ultimately for his own self-interest.  It would be unwise to place our trust in his word."  He hesitated, and then added gently, "You already know this, Buffy."

Buffy met his eyes and knew that he was thinking of Jenny Calendar.  She swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder.

"Will?"

Willow looked up from her work.  "I think Giles is right.  I mean, it's what he did with Adam, isn't it?  And he's, you know, still all evil and everything.  Case in point..."  She gestured at the robot and gave a small shrug.  "Besides, how would we ever know for sure?"  

Buffy frowned as Willow returned to her investigation, rolling up the robot's blouse to get a better angle.  There was something weird...or well, weird _er_...about the Bot.

It was dressed in clothes from her own closet.  

Buffy supposed that shouldn't be surprising.  After all, she'd known he'd been stealing stuff from the house before they'd done the disinvitation spell.  But if Buffy were honest, she would've expected a vampire of Spike's...tastes...to dress his sexbot in fishnets and leather, not a pink skirt and pretty blouse.  Maybe he was trying to make sure it could blend in if needed?

But even if that were the case, Buffy knew he had a lot more revealing options in her closet to choose from.  He seemed to have gravitated toward the most conservative pieces she owned, right down to the thick tights she hadn't worn in years.  What sort of sexbot wore tights?  For perhaps the first time ever, it struck Buffy that underneath his bleach and eyeliner, Spike really was a Victorian.

"Buffy?" Giles voice broke through the distracting thoughts.  "What is it going to be?"

"Give me a moment."  Buffy bit her lip, thinking.  There was no way they could be sure Spike would be honest with them.  The only way they would get the truth out of him was if he thought his words were private and didn't matter...

Slowly, an idea began to take shape in her mind.  "Hey, Will, could you help me get this thing into the bathroom and take its clothes off?"

The Scoobies looked at her in surprise.  Xander raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing.

"Umm...sure," Willow said in confusion.  “Whatcha thinking?"

Buffy smiled grimly.  "I'm thinking there might be a way to find out the truth."

 

**********

 

The first thing Spike noticed as he regained consciousness was his hunger.  It was a gnawing, aching, mind-numbing need, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a long time.  For a moment, it was all he could think about, and he wondered why it hadn't woken him up sooner.  The last time he'd craved blood with such desperation, he'd been chained to a bathtub.

His right eye blinked open and he was greeted with the sight of a gray ceiling.  He stared at the evenly sculpted stonework in confusion. Why had he fallen asleep on the sarcophagus instead of his bed downstairs?  And what was wrong with his left eye?   Slowly, he lifted his hand to touch it.  It was swollen shut.  

What the hell...?

And then suddenly it hit him with the force of a brick wall.

Pain.  

Every single muscle in his body screamed with it, from the torn ligaments in his legs and arms to the holes across his torso to his crushed fingers and the pounding in his skull.  Whatever passed for adrenaline in a vampire’s system must’ve been spent long before he’d passed out.

With the pain came the memories.

Glory.  The minions.  The torture.  The fight.  Buffy.

Spike sat up slowly, taking stock of his injuries.  His limbs groaned in protest as he raised himself to a sitting position, poking and prodding as he took in the damage.  

Every single rib felt sprained or broken from the repeated blows of Glory’s fists.  At one point, she’d stamped her heel down on his left foot, breaking it in several places.  The holes she had dug with her fingers went straight through to his internal organs.  Good job he didn’t need most of them.  

Several of his fingers were broken as well.  That was a bit of problem.  They’d been some of the first things she’d gone for, and his body had used what little reserves of blood he’d had to try to heal them while he was still strung to the ceiling.  He’d have to break them again and reset them properly.

But the worst thing was his head.  Spike felt his skull, but as far as he could tell there wasn’t a fracture anywhere.  Unlike the wounds on his torso, Glory's fingers hadn’t even broken the skin beneath his hair.  The pain seemed to be emanating from his brain itself, still aching from her attack.

No wonder he was so hungry.  He could drain the blood of several full-grown men and still need gallons more for his body to heal itself.

Spike let himself collapse onto his back once more.  He wasn’t sure he had the energy to crawl over to the small fridge and see if he had any of the butcher’s swill left over.  Maybe in another hour or so he could try again.  

Or better yet, just go straight for the Jack.  Whatever he had in the fridge likely wasn’t enough to cover his injuries anyhow.  It’d take gallons just to get him to the point where he could pay the butcher a visit.  It wasn’t as if he could hunt for something close by…

Another memory clicked in his head.  Spike’s eyes shot open.

The chip was gone.  

Instinctively, he reached for his skull again, marveling at the absence of any injury.  For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.  But Glory had spent most of the wee morning hours trying to force him to break down and tell her how to activate “the Key.”  He hadn’t imagined that. 

And he didn’t have the chip...if it really was well and truly gone...

He _could_ hunt.

It wouldn’t be easy, in this condition.  But he probably had enough blood to get him to the nearest neighborhood.  He could collapse onto the sidewalk until some bleeding heart found him and tried to help.  There was always some one who hadn't lived in Sunnydale long enough to know better.  She’d lean in a just little too close and it would be the last thing she ever did.  It wasn’t his preferred way of hunting, but it worked well enough in a survival situation.  He could work his way from victim to victim until he was fully healed.

And then…

And then he’d be a proper vamp again.  No more being vulnerable to human wankers.  No more experiments.  No more splitting headaches.  No more groveling for the Scoobies’ protection.  No more games of Kick the Spike.  No more plastic stakes in his chest.  He was off his government leash, a bad dog set free to slash and bash and bleed this whole sorry town dry. 

He had his stones back.

Spike’s mouth filled with saliva.  For a moment, he felt himself slide into game face.  His fangs lowered, yearning for the hunt.  

God, how he'd missed it.  Fighting demons was proper fun, yeah, but it lacked the grand finale.  Demon blood tasted like shite, worse than anything the butcher sold.  

He'd missed the _bite_ , the feed, that wonderful wild and savage feeling of his jaws crunching through bone and cartilage, the pulse of a human neck beneath his teeth, the tang of hot salty blood trickling down his throat as he sated the urges that pain had kept at bay for far too long.

It wasn't right, what they had done to him.  He wasn't a bloody hamster in a cage.  He was a predator, a monster, a killer.  He was a master of the night.  The terror of Sunnydale.  The Slayer of Slayers...

Buffy.

Her face burst into his mind, deflating all those intoxicating thoughts.  Green eyes, wide with shock and confusion as she took in his injuries.  Beautiful, deadly hands, so gentle as she cut him down.  

Spike wasn't sure what had made her do it.  He'd known full well she hadn't come to rescue him.  He'd been prepared for her stake.  He'd never expected to make it out of Glory's flat in one piece.  He should've know the Slayer would do something surprising.

But Buffy's small bit of goodwill would vanish if he started hunting again.  They'd be enemies once more, instead of...whatever the hell she'd decided in her head they were.  They'd have their final dance and in the end one of them would snuff it.  Prob'ly him, if he were honest.

Once upon a time, that wouldn't have bothered him.  Death by Slayer was the ultimate warrior's end.  And Buffy?  She'd make it glorious.  He couldn't ask for a better executioner.  Half of him _wanted_ her to do it, if only to ensure no one else did.  

And yet...

He didn't want to be her enemy.  Not anymore.  And not like this.  Not after she'd done him a good turn. Poor chit had been screwed over by one too many blokes already, his wanker of a grandsire included.  Could he really add his name to that list?

Spike wasn't stupid.  He knew he didn't mean as much to Buffy as the Great Forehead or one of the Scoobies or even that hulking tin soldier who'd run out on her.  Fact was, his safety ranked below even the average human on the street as far as she was concerned.  But...if she'd cut him down, showed him a little bit of grace, then he must at least rate _something._   It might not amount to much, but he'd lose it all if he turned on her.

Maybe he could hunt in secret?  Snack on the Happy Meals on the side, hiding his kills?

No, that'd never work.  Buffy was too clever to buy a charade like that for long.  Sooner or later, he'd slip up and be exposed, and the fallout then would likely be all the worse for the lie.  And anyway, it'd be a greater betrayal of her generosity than hunting openly, a move worthy of Angelus.  Spike couldn't do that to her.

The only way this could end well was if he could get Buffy to trust him.  And the only way to do that was...

Bugger.

He was going to have to give up the hunt, chip or no chip.  Spike moaned to himself, trying not to think what a tragedy that was.  Finally get his fangs back and then not use them?  What a sodding waste.

And when it was all said and done, it might not even matter.  After all, he'd already lied to her once.  It had been pure instinct, telling her that Glory had taken the ring.  Buffy really would have staked him then and there if she'd known what really happened.  

It wasn't that Spike was worried she might discover the ring.  Since Willow's spell, he'd kept it hidden downstairs, only taking it out to wear on occasions when he was feeling particularly happy.  There hadn't been many of those recently.  Like as not, she'd never even venture down into the lower part of his crypt.  It was probably safe enough in its usual nook.

No, the real problem would be pretending to be chipped.  Because it wasn't just avoiding the hunt, now was it?  Bloody chip fired on him for all sorts of things.  He could be exposed just for shoving a human a bit too hard.  Eventually he'd slip up.  And then Buffy would know he'd lied to her and the betrayal would be the same as if he'd been hunting behind her back.

Spike groaned.  He was trapped in a sodding catch-22.  He couldn't hunt openly without hurting Buffy.  He couldn't hunt secretly without doing the same.  Even if he was a good boy and didn't kill anyone, he couldn't pretend to be chipped forever.  But he couldn't tell Buffy the truth without getting staked on sight.  The only safe bet was to leave town, but Spike knew he was too much of a lovesick git for that.

_Think, Spike, think.  There has to be a way out of this mess._

The trick was to figure out where he stood with Buffy.  Drop hints, ask questions.  Prob'ly wouldn't like the answer as it stood right now, but maybe if he just had a little bit of time, maybe if he proved himself enough...maybe then he could change it.  

It was a long shot, he knew.  But before this morning, he'd never imagined she'd show a vampire mercy.  Maybe whatever stayed her hand in Glory's lair was a foundation he could build on. If he kept quiet about the chip just long enough to earn a little bit of trust, then maybe he could find a safe way to reveal the truth without undoing it all.  

He'd have to keep his fangs clean, of course, or the whole thing would unravel.  And it might not work.  She might never believe him or give him the benefit of a doubt.  Or she might discover the truth prematurely and come after him.

Spike shook his head.  He'd have to be careful.  He needed to think this through, figure out a good plan, take things one step at a time.  

First things first.  His body needed blood.

Slowly, he raised himself to a sitting position again.  If he could just ease himself off the stone slab and make his way to the fridge, he would probably have enough blood in there to get him by till nightfall and then...then he could hunt for squirrels or something.  As long as no one saw him do it, his secret would be safe for now.  And Spike doubted Buffy would care about the squirrels if she ever found out.  

Then the next step would be to pull himself together well enough to make his way to the butcher's shop.  Bagged human blood would be better, of course, but the hospital was much farther away.  Spike didn’t think he could make it there before sunrise.

Yes, one step at a time.  That was the ticket.  Now if he could just--

The door of the crypt swung open.  A petite figure in a pink skirt skipped in, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight.

"Spike!" it chirped in cheery concern.  "You're covered in sexy wounds!"

Bollocks.

He'd forgotten about the Bot. 


	3. Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from Intervention.

Spike gritted his teeth in annoyance.  “Yeah, I feel real sexy,” he groaned, rubbing his aching forehead.

The robot’s sunny enthusiasm was not what he wanted to deal with right now, what with his stomach growling and his body feeling like it’d been run over by a concrete lorry.  For a moment, he considered sending it downstairs until he had the energy to figure things out.  But if there was one thing worse than waking up in pain, it was waking up in pain and alone.  The Bot was better company than none.  And at least it didn’t mind being around him, even if that was only due to programming.

"Be a luv and close the door, will you?" he asked, straining to keep his voice even.  Sunlight was pouring into the crypt, stopping just short of the sarcophagus.  The last thing he needed was to top off his injuries with third degree burns.

The robot gave him a perky grin.  "Oh, right!" it said, turning back to give the door a slam.  "Daylight, begone!"

Spike resisted the urge to roll his one good eye.  It was a piss-poor imitation of her, he realized for the hundredth time.  The Slayer might play at being a dumb blonde when it served her purposes, but she wasn't nearly as dim as Robot Boy had made the Bot. 

For a moment, Spike wondered if he could tinker around with the settings and capture more of the real Buffy's sharp edges.  Then he remembered he was supposed to be on his best behavior so the Slayer wouldn't get stake-happy when she found out about the chip.  Making plasticine copies of her probably counted as evil in Buffy's book.  Maybe he should hide the thing before the Scoobies found out.

He frowned, suddenly remembering something.  He could have sworn that there had been two Buffys in Glory's lair this morning.  And they hadn't been wearing the same clothes, so he couldn't have just been seeing double.  Which meant...

Spike sat up a bit straighter and stared at the Bot suspiciously.  "Where you been?"

It smiled at him brightly.  "After those ugly creatures took you, I fell down and got confused," it explained.  "So I went and found my friends.  And guess what?  I found another Buffy too!  Did you know there were two of us?  We're very pretty."

He groaned internally.  So the Scoobies knew about the Bot.  It was a miracle he wasn't dust already.  He eyed the robot cautiously.  If they knew about it, why had they returned it unharmed?  

Something about this wasn't right.

"What did the other Buffy do when she saw you?" he asked cautiously.

It gave him a mournful look.  "She didn't seem to like me very much."

Spike let out a painful snort.  "Yeah, s'pose she wouldn't.  Surprised she didn't melt you down into scrap metal."

"She was very confused," the Bot agreed.  

He gave a small sigh.  "Don't let it get to you, luv.  S'not really you she doesn't like.  It's me."

"How could she not like you?" it asked, wide-eyed.  "You're so sexy, and you have really great abs!"

Spike winced.  Yesterday, the robot's canned compliments had seemed fun, if not quite satisfying.  Now, however, he'd trade them all to have the real Buffy look at him again the way she had when she'd cut him down this morning.

The Bot drew closer, brow furrowed.  "If the other Buffy doesn't like you, why did you want me to look like her?"

He studied his broken fingers for several minutes before responding.  "'Cause I'm a bloody fool, that's why," he said finally.  "Knew she'd never give me the time of day. Was just looking for a substitute. Thought if I made you look like her and act like her--'least much as possible-- maybe I'd forget it wasn't real." He looked up at the robot again.  "That you weren't real."

"Oh, I think I'm real!" it said seriously.  "Look!  I have two eyes...and ten fingers...and a tongue...and I can do all sorts of neat tricks!"

Spike raised his right eyebrow.  "I remember."

The Bot gave him a bright smile, and he returned it with a sad one of his own.  "Sorry to disappoint you, luv, but I have all those things and more.  And apparently I'm not real.  So you prob'ly don't qualify either."

It tilted its head quizzically.  "I don't understand."

"Neither do I, really," he said.  "But the other Buffy...she thinks...well she thinks all sorts of rubbish, but...seems she also thinks you and I are basically the same.  That I'm just...I dunno...some sort of supernatural machine, preprogrammed for doing evil and nothin' else."

"But you are very evil, Spike," the robot chirped.  "No one can resist your sinister charm!"

Despite his mood, Spike felt a momentary flicker of amusement.

"Damn right, I'm evil!" he said, straightening a little.  "I'm evil as...as..." he searched for some sort of comparison, but his head hurt too much "...as evil as I ever was."  He paused.  "But I'm other things too," he added, more quietly.  

He slumped his shoulders, hating how pathetic he sounded in his own ears.  The robot was looking strangely at him and blinking hard.  Its mouth was open, but it didn't seem know what to say.  He wondered briefly if he'd managed to short circuit the bloody thing with his milksop whinging.

"Don't listen to me, pet," he said.  "'M just feeling blue right now, yeah?"

"T-that's alright," it stammered, rather hesitant.  "Maybe I can help cheer you up."  It brightened.  "Do you wanna ravage me now?"

He let out a small, bitter laugh.  "Give us a moment," he wheezed, ribs cracking painfully.  "Got some bones need mending."

Understatement of the century, that was.  It'd be several weeks before he could even contemplate something that physical.  

The robot watched him uncertainly.  Apparently how to react to bitterness and open depression wasn't in its programming.  Spike considered it for a moment.  He'd only had it for a day, so he couldn't be sure, but it still seemed...off...somehow.  There was something peculiar about its mannerisms, about its sudden bouts of quiet confusion.  And there was something else...  

He wished his head wasn't pounding quite so viciously so he could try to put his finger on what it was.  It struck him as worrisome that the Scoobies seemed to have returned the Bot to him unharmed, when he thought for sure it had earned him a staking.  He wondered what sort of games they were playing.  Did they suspect the chip was out?  

Whatever was going on, he needed to be careful.

Still, he decided, as long as the Bot was here, it might as well be useful.

"Mind heating up some blood for me, pet?" he asked.  "Don't think I'm quite ready to go walking about."

"Sure thing!" The Bot skipped across the crypt happily, pink skirt swishing as it bounced.  It opened the tiny fridge and pulled out a mason jar that was half-filled with congealed pig's blood.  "This looks kinda old," it said, wrinkling its nose.

"S'okay.  It'll do for now.  Just heat it up to 98.6, yeah?"

"Right-o!" It gave a silly salute.  

Spike watched it carefully as it poured the blood into a mug and set it spinning in the microwave.   "There's some burba weed in that tin on top of the fridge," he said.  The Bot looked up in confusion. Spike raised his eyebrow once again.  "To flavor the blood, remember?"

"O-Oh, yes.  Of course."  It added a large spoonful of the weed to his mug and stirred.

As it handed him the blood, Spike took the opportunity to lean in and breathe deep.  Normally his sense of smell was better than a bloodhound's, but with the swelling in his eye pressing on his nasal passages, he'd need to be fairly close to pick up on anything out of order.

But as far as he could tell with his impaired senses, the Bot still smelled like Buffy.  That was as it should be.  He'd dressed it in her clothes partly to mask the scent of metal wires and latex, cloaking the robot in her distinctive aroma.  Normally it wasn't quite enough, but the Buffy-scent came through clear and strong now.  

Satisfied that he was just being paranoid, he accepted the mug and took a sip.  

God, he was so hungry even weeks-old pig's blood tasted good.  He closed his eyes, savoring the spicy tang of the burba weed and wondering if cinnamon would go well with it.  If he was going to live off the sauce for Buffy's sake, he might as well experiment with improving whatever fare she'd allow him.

"Spike, why did you let that Glory hurt you?"

Spike tightened his grip on his mug, staring at the blood inside as if it were something he'd never seen before.  "She wanted to know about the Key," he replied quietly.

The Bot brightened.  "Oh, well I can tell her, and then--"

" _No_!" 

Spike's chest filled with raw panic as it turned to leave.  He grabbed its arm, spilling half his blood in the process.  How did the Bot even know about Dawn?  He'd been so careful not to talk about her in front of it.  Had the Scoobies accidentally said something?

"You can't ever!" he rasped with as much force as he could manage.  "Glory never finds out!" 

He resolved to wipe the bloody thing's memory as soon as he was able.  Or maybe it really should be melted down into scrap.  If Glory got her hands on it, everything he'd just endured last night would be in vain.

"Why?" The Bot looked at him in confusion.  It didn't appear to be taking off, so Spike let himself relax a bit.  He loosened his grip, wondering again what felt so strange about the robot's arm.  It looked at him curiously.

"Why not?" it asked again.

He dropped his head, not really wanting to answer the question.  

"'Cause," he whispered finally, "the other, not-so-pleasant Buffy...anything happened to D-...to the Bit...it'd destroy her."  He closed his eyes as he admitted the humiliating truth.  He would have to erase this part of the Bot's memory as well.  "I couldn't live...her being in that much pain.  Let Glory kill me first."  The corners of his lips twitched ruefully.  "Nearly bloody did."

Spike studied the rips and tears in his jeans as he spoke, letting himself feel once more the horror of the previous night, the frightening possibilities that were only narrowly averted.

He could have lost them.

Not that he'd ever had them, of course.  Buffy'd never allow that.  But they could have died.  Niblet, with her big blue eyes and scrawny limbs and saucy mouth.  Heaven only knew what horrible torment the hell bitch had in mind for her.  And Buffy...Buffy would never let anyone take her sister without a fight.  Glory would have broken her.  She wouldn't have held back, like she did with him.  Not if she didn't need her for information.

Things could so easily have happened that way.  Glory had very nearly broken him, so many times.   The thought sickened him.

God, he'd been so weak.  Shame flooded him as he thought about the moments he'd begged for mercy.  He'd been tempted to give in to the pain, tempted to give the tart what she wanted.  Of course, he hadn't gone through with it, in the end.  That was a small consolation. But he'd come far too close.

He closed his eyes in self-hatred.  Buffy was right about him.  He was beneath her.  He was beneath them both.  She _should_ stake him, chip or no chip.  What good was his love if it couldn't take a little heat?

Spike felt a pair of lips touch his own.  The robot was trying to kiss him.  

He leaned in hungrily, pathetic wanker that he was, desperate to lose himself in the affection of a machine.   _Like unto like_ , he thought bitterly, prying at its lower with urgency.

Suddenly he froze.  

Since when had the Bot's lips had moisture in them?

A split second later, everything clicked into place.  The hesitancy, the stumbles.  The feel of real skin instead of latex when he'd grabbed her arm, goosebumps and tiny hairs rubbing against his palm.  The intoxicating scent that was too strong to come from clothes alone.  And that feeling of strangeness he couldn't shake...that sense that something was off...the thing that his aching brain couldn't process but which had been there all along...

It was her heartbeat.

The universe shifted around him.  The darkness of the crypt faded away into an impressionistic canvas of green and gold.  The dank chill and stone sarcophagus disappeared, leaving in their place the warm lips of a living girl.  It seemed to Spike as if suddenly all the pain of the past night had been drained out of him, replaced by something light and buoyant that filled his chest as if it were a paper lantern.  

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away, and stared in awe at the woman who was not a robot.  She met his gaze, her own eyes shining with an emotion he couldn't place.  Unable to move, he searched her face dumbly.

_Why Buffy?  What does it mean?_

And then the moment passed.  

Buffy blinked several times, retreating beneath that invisible iron shield of conviction and duty Spike knew so well. His heart sank as her face became carefully neutral again.  She regarded him quietly for several minutes, Slayer to vampire.  

"I gave your robot to Willow," she said finally.  "I don't ever want to see you with it again."

"It wasn't supposed to--"

"Don't."

Spike shut his mouth.  The robot was a lost cause, he knew.  A million hellgods and a million kisses would never change Buffy's mind about it.  And with the memory of her lips still imprinted upon his own, Spike didn't feel like pursuing it.  So he hung his head and let her upbraid him.

"The robot was gross and obscene.  If I ever see you with it again, I _will_ stake you.  Understood?"

"Yes," he whispered.

Buffy softened slightly.  "Thank you...for what you did," she said quietly.  "It...it means a lot to me.  And Dawn."

He gave a small shrug, wincing as body protested the movement.  "Don't like the idea of Niblet being in Glory's paws anymore than you do," he said.  "Glad she's safe."

"Me too."  Buffy glanced about the crypt, frowning as if she had just noticed its bareness.  "Is there anything you need?"

Spike hesitated.  He wasn't used to relying on charity, but in this situation...

"Could really use some more blood," he admitted.

She nodded. "Okay.  I'll stop by the butcher's shop today."

Spike swallowed.  "Think you could stop by the hospital too?  Bag of human will do a lot more for me than pig's blood."

Buffy frowned.  "That blood is meant for hospital patients," she said.  "It's there to help the sick or people who are..."

"Badly injured?" He asked as her voice trailed off.  He saw her eyes flick across his bruises and broken limbs.  She swallowed.

"It's not supposed to be for vampires," she said slowly, but her tone had become less sure.  "It's for other people, human people..."

"Real people," he said softly.

She hesitated.  "That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

He saw her mouth open, ready to deny it, but then she reconsidered.  "I'll see what I can do."

"Don't put yourself out, Slayer.  Pig's blood will do in a pinch."  Prob'ly for the best anyway.  Human blood might compromise his ability to resist snacking on the sly.

"I'll see what I can do," Buffy repeated.  

She turned to leave, then paused, her back turned to him.  "I don't understand you, Spike.  I don't know why you are the way you are, why you do the things you do..." She trailed off again for a moment before continuing, "It's against everything I know to be true.  And I don't know what that means." 

Spike stared at her, transfixed.  Buffy turned her head over her shoulders, meeting his eyes one last time.  "But I want you to know...what you did for me...and for Dawn...that was real.  I won't forget it."

And then she was gone.

 

***********

 

It was broad daylight, but Buffy ran through the cemetery as if every vampire in Sunnydale were after her.  She ran at an all-out pace, as she rarely did for anything less than hellgods.  She ran in circles, without direction, zigzagging through the headstones until even the familiar landscape of Restfield became disorienting.  She ran until she was sick, until the small sandwich she'd crammed into her mouth a few hours ago threatened to come up again.  She ran and ran and ran and--

With a grunt, Buffy threw her hands out in front of her, just barely managing to avoid her chin bashing into the base of a headstone.  Cursing, she glared at the tree root that had tripped her.  Why couldn't the damn things stay in the ground like they were supposed to?

Then again, Buffy supposed, dead people were the same way.  Never content to stay in their graves--no, they had to go and make trouble for the living, hunting and killing and falling in love with her and posing all sorts of deep, disturbing problems.  As if her life wasn't complicated enough.

Too emotionally spent to continue running, Buffy dragged herself to the oak tree and sat down at the base.  Leaning her back against the trunk, she looked up.  The leafy branches were rustling in the breeze, the sunlight glinting through them as they swayed.  It was too early in the year for cicadas, but there were a few butterflies resting their wings on the lower limbs.  Higher up, a squirrel sat watching her suspiciously.

It was a beautiful day to have everything she believed come crashing down on her.

What had happened in there?  Buffy had gone in, intending to coax the truth out of Spike...interrogate him about what he might have said to Glory...yell at him about the robot...and then maybe dust him if she got pissed enough.  What she hadn't expected was to be put on the defense herself.

And she certainly hadn't expected to kiss him.

It hadn't been sexual, of that she was sure.  And as much as she hated giving him credit for anything, she was pretty certain Spike had known it as well.  

Buffy honestly couldn't say _what_  had driven her to the kiss.  It had just seemed natural at the time.  He'd been so hurt...and so brave (could vampires be brave?)...and she had just reacted.  It hadn't required thinking.  At least, not until he'd pulled away in shock.  And then she had suddenly remembered just who and what he was, and had reluctantly pulled herself together to deliver at least part of the dressing-down she'd had planned.

Because...God, what had he done?  

He'd protected Dawn...and he'd done it for Buffy's sake. No payment, no hope of reward.  Buffy hadn't even bothered to ask him about the ring.  There had been no need.  She could see in his face and hear in his voice that he hadn't given up her sister.  That he loved her.  Loved them both.

For real.

But how?  He shouldn't be able.  He was soulless.  Love wasn't in his nature.  He was just a demon, a monster wearing the face of someone he'd killed long before she had been born.  That was what Buffy knew.  That was what she had been taught, what had helped her hold on to her sanity all throughout high school.  

It had made it easier, during  _that_ year...easier to deal with the other vampire in her life.  The one who had also been soulless for a little while. 

After all, if the soulless thing hadn't really been Angel _,_ then it didn't mean that he'd stopped loving her.  If soulless creatures weren't capable of love, then it meant that Angel was truly gone, at least until Willow’s spell brought him back.  Because if there were any part of him left inside...inside that _thing_...he would have continued to love her, wouldn't he?

True, he—no _it_ \--had still been obsessed with her, in a twisted sort of way.  Willow had even said as much.   _"You're still the only thing he thinks about."_  

Buffy shuddered.  Being the object of a stalker's fascination was a lot different from being loved.  She'd found that out the hard way.

Before today, she'd thought that's what Spike was doing.  It was disgusting, the way he snuck around her house, stealing her clothes and smelling her sweaters.  And the mannequin shrine was weird and creepy enough to have come from a serial killer's lair.  Not to mention the whole incident when he'd chained her up and threatened her with death-by-Drusilla.  Really, a robot version of her was just the cherry on top of all his stupid antics.  

Those things hadn't scared her as much as they had with Angel--Spike was chipped and harmless and she was old enough to deal with a bit better--but she hadn't had any illusions that any of his actions were signs of real love.

But this...this changed everything.  

Spike had done what Angel couldn't.  There had been plenty of torture that spring after she had accidentally lost her boyfriend his soul, but it had all been of the monster's own doing.  He'd tormented her psychologically for several months, and then he'd taken Giles and spent hours trying to break him.  He probably would have killed him eventually, if it hadn't been for Spike...

She bit her lip.  Spike was just as soulless as Angel had been back then, and yet he'd just endured unimaginable torture for her sake.  For Dawn's sake.  What made him so different?  And if it were possible for a soulless creature to do something like that, why couldn't Angel have...?

Buffy closed her eyes, wishing she could massage away the ache inside her chest.  When she opened them again, she looked around the cemetery.  How could a place so bright and pretty be so full of horror and death?

Because it wasn't just about Angel, she realized.  What Spike had done...well, she'd said it herself, hadn't she?  It was real.  And if it was real, then...then maybe  _he_ was real.  And if one soulless vampire was real, then...

Her eyes drifted over to the headstone she'd nearly busted her chin on earlier.

_Anna Sidwell_

_Beloved Daughter_

    _1984-2000_

Poor girl.  She'd died so young _._   Just sixteen—a sophomore during Buffy’s senior year.  They’d probably seen each other in the halls, even if they had never spoken.Buffy's stomach clenched at the thought.Early death wasn't uncommon, in this town.  Even with a Slayer on duty, there were still plenty of victims to go around.

Buffy hugged herself, suddenly cold in spite of the weather.  Was Anna still in her grave?  If someone were to dig up her casket, would they find the dead girl's bones inside?  Or would they find it empty, the latch broken and the satin lining ripped to shreds?  Was Anna out there somewhere in a dark and empty place, waiting for the sun to set so she could find some other teenage victim to feed her new appetite?  If she was, would it really be her...or was it some other creature beneath her skin?

Or maybe she was gone completely, ashes mixing with the dirt on the ground.  Maybe Buffy had staked an undead Anna Sidwell at some point in the past year, without even realizing it.  She'd dusted so many that it was hard to say for sure. 

Most of the time it was easy.  Just a few quips and a piece of wood through the heart.  Don't look into their eyes.  Don't think about who they'd once been.  Don't wonder if they felt pain.  Don't wish there was another way.  

And if you can help it, don't learn their names.

Buffy rubbed her temples.  It was harder when you knew their names.  They stopped being just vampires, just monsters, just rabid animals who had to be put down for the good of humanity.  They became individuals.

Like Spike.

Upsetting memories washed over Buffy.

_The vampire paused in his game, holding the pool cube like a weapon as he sauntered toward her. It reminded Buffy of that night in the school, when they had fought for the first time._

_"How many of my kind reckon you've done?"_

_She crossed her arms defiantly.  "Not enough."_

_The corners of his lips were twitching in that smug way that always made her want to sock him.  "Mmmhmm.  And we just keep coming.  But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the armies of hell besides...and all we need is for one of us--just one--to have the thing we're all hoping for."_

_"And that would be what?" She asked, uncomfortable with his closeness._

_He leaned down to whisper in her ear.  "One. Good. Day."_

She'd been staving off that one good day for a long time.  And Buffy knew her dust count was well past a hundred now.  It was a rare night that she didn't come across a vampire on her patrols.  She'd been called shortly after her fifteenth birthday.  She was twenty now.  Even if she'd only killed one vampire a night, that was...Buffy closed her eyes and did the math in her head...that was one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five vampires.  

And there were so many nights when she ran into whole nests of them.

She opened her eyes and stood up, wandering slowly through the cemetery.  What did it mean, dusting nearly two thousand vampires?  It was a number she couldn't quite picture in her mind. 

Buffy's gaze drifted across the headstones, pausing to let herself focus on them for once.  The landscape of Restfield changed frequently. The other cemeteries did as well.  It was something she'd noticed not long after moving to Sunnydale.  Most of the time she tried not to think about it.  But just because she tried not to learn names didn't mean she was always successful.  She couldn't help but notice sometimes...

The grave next to Anna Sidwell's was one Jacob Whitfield.  But before that, Buffy was pretty sure it had been the grave of Robert Hanson.  Emily Madison's grave, several rows down...that had once belonged to Donna Thompson.  And Michael Cox had replaced David Shelbourne.

The caretakers...they must know the truth.  And there were too many mortalities in this town not to recycle the empty graves.  It was pragmatic, really.  The Sunnydale circle of life.  Or unlife.  

And she was part of it.  That was one of the things Dracula had been implying, hadn't it?  Vampires hunted humans.  Slayers hunted vampires.  They were both predators, in their own way.  But it was different for her.  Because she had to do it, had to protect the innocent.  

And because vampires weren't real people.

Were they?

No, they couldn't be real people, no matter what Spike had done.  Because if they were real, then that meant...

_The vampire knelt in front of her, blue eyes fierce beneath their black liner._

_"Death is your art," he said. "You make it with your hands, day after day."_

But he was just trying to shake her, to get under her skin.  It didn't mean he was right.  Vampires were creatures of death.  Slayers were different.  They weren't killers.   _She_  wasn't a killer.

_The First Slayer crouched in front of the fire, wild and feral with her painted face._

_"Death is your gift."_

Buffy shuddered.  She shouldn't have gone into the desert, shouldn't have tried the stupid vision quest.  It hadn't helped.  Besides, she didn't have time to think about the First Slayer's words right now.  Or Spike's.  She didn't have time for an existential crisis.  

Vampires were evil.  They had to be staked, for the greater good.  They were monsters, not real people.  Spike might be real, but he was an enigma she didn't have the luxury of solving right now.  There was still a hellgod on the loose.

_No more thinky-thoughts,_  she told herself firmly.   _Pull yourself together, Buffy._

Dawn and the Scoobies were waiting for her, waiting to find out whether they needed to pack their bags.  And then she had to get to the hospital, had to bring the vampire the blood he'd earned.  Moral dilemmas and self-reflection would have to wait for later.

Buffy straightened her shoulders and made her way back to the entrance.  When she reached the iron gate, she let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be back in the world of the living.  But as the gate creaked shut behind her, she turned to look over at the headstones one last time.  The cold and hollow feeling was still there, gnawing at her stomach.

It was a terrible and lonely thing, she realized, to be the only human in Sunnydale who found the cemetery less frightening in the dark.


	4. Compromised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from Spiral and The Weight of the World.

“Damn those nauseating little Latin-chanters!”

Glory threw the Key on the bed in frustration.  Crossing the room in a few quick strides, she grabbed the iron candelabra from the corner and sent it crashing through the window in a single, powerful movement.  Dirty minions scrambled to get out her way, cowering at the impressive display of temper.

The hellgod walked slowly to the broken window, peering down at her handiwork without satisfaction.  She raked her fingers through her curls and let out another scream of frustration.

What was the deal with this lame dimension?  It had all these stupid mortals running around their pointless little affairs, all chock-full of hormones and emotions and drama.  It had Slayers who surrounded themselves with friends and witches and allies.  It had vampires who wouldn’t even help a girl fulfill her evil plans.

And it had a Key that she couldn’t figure out how to bleed.

Glory had to hand it to the obnoxious little monks.  Turning the Key into a tiny little…whatever it was…had been a stroke of genius.  She had been working around the clock for the past four weeks, trying every spell she knew to get the Key to bleed.  Her clerics had also gotten in on the job, testing it magically for every trick that might release the mystical green energy that would take her home.  

But it had all been in vain.  None of them could figure out how the stupid thing worked in this dimension.

Heaving a dramatic sigh, she turned around and stared at the tiny object sitting on her bed.  She could crush it her hand and not even break the skin of her palm.  Perhaps that was what it would take.  Breaking it was the only thing they hadn’t tried, although as her frustration had mounted, Glory had been tempted several times.  

But something as delicate as the Key had to be handled with care.  If breaking it was the answer, it had to be done at exactly the right moment.  Time was of the essence.  Her clerics had assured her that they only had a small window in which to bleed the Key and open the portal.  There wouldn’t be a chance for a do-over.

And if it didn’t work…

If it didn’t work, she’d be stuck in this pathetic plane forever, shackled in this worthless form with all its feelings and worries and pain.  

Glory shuddered and looked around her in disgust.  Her apartment had been one of the few perks of living in this dimension, and now she’d had to abandon that as well.  It had been a necessary move, abandoning her digs for this new place.  With the Key in her hands, it was important to keep a low profile as she waited for her big moment.  That didn’t mean she had to be happy about the situation, however.  This mansion was cold and dark and old-fashioned, nothing like she wanted.  But her spies had assured her it was the last spot the Slayer would ever look.  Apparently she had some big overdramatic history with the place and avoided it like the plague.  Something about another vampire…

That little blonde really was weird for a Slayer.

The hellgod gave a petulant sigh.  The minions had tried to brighten this place up, but it wasn’t working and that was only irritating her even more.  She desperately needed something pretty.

“Jinx!”

The tallest of her minions scrambled forward.  “Yes, Your Magnificence?”

“Did you find the shoes?” Glory had been reduced to indirect shopping channels.  Yet another perk of being in hiding.

Jinx rubbed his hands nervously, his head bobbing up and down apologetically.  “We-we have not managed to procure the gold ones, oh Gracious and Patient One. Th-the store said they would have to be sh-shipped.  B-but we do, however, have a w-wonderful shade of silver awaiting Your Scrumptiousness in the other room.”

Glory gritted her teeth.  “Imbecile!  I want the _gold_!”  

Jinx cringed as she took a swipe at him.  “W-we will renew our search, Your Wonderful Luminescence!  P-perhaps another store…”

An uncomfortable feeling prickled at Glory’s insides.  “Aww, Jinxy,” she said without thinking.  “I’m sorry about that.”

And then she froze.  Her minions stared at her with wide eyes.  

Glory’s hand went to her mouth in horror.  “Did I just say that?” she asked. 

They nodded in fright.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Get out,” Glory whispered.  The minions exchanged nervous glances with each other, as if they weren’t sure what to do.  Her voice became more strained.  “Get out, get out, get out!”

The minions fled.  Glory slammed the door behind them, then crumpled to the floor in shock.

This couldn’t be happening.  She had…she had just…she had just felt guilt.

It had been a small thing, she knew.  But it shouldn't have happened at all.  She was a hellgod, all rage and death and destruction.  Guilt wasn't part of the package. 

But lately she had been feeling all sorts of things. 

Fear of failure, of missing her deadline.  Respect for the way the Slayer had managed to hide the Key from her, and for how defiantly the vampire had resisted.  Even small amounts of gratitude for how hard her minions had worked to try to make this drabby place more suited to her tastes.  And now guilt...

It was disgusting.  It was human.  It was _Ben_.

Glory closed her eyes.  It had to be him.  She could feel him, there in the back of her brain.  It was a frustrating thing, their relationship. Whenever Ben was present, Glory would find herself submerged beneath his consciousness.  They didn’t really talk, even though they shared the same space.  The only communication they had was through her minions.  For the most part, they couldn’t be more separate. 

Until now.

Now the barriers that had kept them apart for twenty-five years seemed to be breaking down.  Glory wasn’t sure why it was happening now, of all times.  Perhaps it was because Ben was fighting harder than ever before, aware that his time was limited.  Or perhaps it was just the spell itself, reacting to the nearness of her one chance to return to power.  It was almost funny—if you were into irony—that the closer she got to shedding this form forever, the more pathetically human she became.

Whatever it was, Glory had to put a stop to it, and quickly.  She couldn’t let these revolting feelings cripple her right before her grand triumph.  If she wasn’t careful, the sanctimonious little meatworm would have her giving hugs and dishing out soup in a homeless shelter or whatever it was he did with his free time.  The sniveling little do-gooder always seemed to care so _much_ about this sorry world and his stupid species and—

And himself.

Glory paused.  Now, that was a thought.  Ben cared about himself, same as every other creature in this crummy dimension.  In fact, he cared about himself a _lot_.  More, really, than he cared about his patients, or any other person.  Maybe more than he cared about the entire world.  

Not that Glory blamed him, of course.  These weird little humans all thought they were so innocent, so nice.  They made up all these rules and laws and good manners to try to convince themselves of their own goodness.  But when it came right down to it, none of them were really that virtuous.  They were survivors, at any cost. 

And Ben was a veteran at surviving.  Glory didn’t have to be able to communicate with him directly to know that he’d done things…terrible things…to save his own skin over the years.  In fact, now that she thought about it, he was more or less willing to do those things just to save his job and keep up appearances.  He was ambitious, in his own limited way.

Glory smiled.  Ambition and self-preservation were qualities she could use.  Maybe this didn’t have to be a bad thing, this breaking down of the barrier between the two of them.  Maybe if she were slowly being infected with his emotions, the influence could work the other way as well.  Maybe she could convince him…

The hellgod stood abruptly.  Of course.  That was it.  She’d been going about this the wrong way all along.  She’d been high-handed, sending her minions to coax information out of Ben without offering anything in return.  But guys like him could always be bought.  She just had to find the right price.  And if they were drawing ever closer to one another, maybe now she could make the offer herself.

It was worth a shot.

Glory reached into the recesses of her mind, feeling Ben’s presence as he desperately tried to claw his way to the surface once again.

For the first time in twenty-five years, she let him.

 

***********

 

Ben blinked as he looked around him.  Well, this was new.  Usually when he managed to reassert his presence, he found himself in the middle of whatever ostentatious place Glory had managed to take over.  Or occasionally the mall.  Whatever this new place, it was considerably more tasteful than she usually preferred.  Something must have happened while he was gone.

He took a step forward and stumbled.  Looking down, he let out a long-suffering sigh as he took in the strapless red number he was wearing.  Ben crawled his way to the bed painfully and began to remove the three-inch heels that were cutting into his much-larger feet.  Why did women have to wear such constricting clothing?

Something intense pressed itself into his mind.

_Don’t know what you’re complaining about, baby.  They look almost as good on you as they do on me._

Ben froze.  What the hell?

“Glory?” he asked tentatively.

_That’s right, baby,_ she answered.   _We’re talking._

“How?” Ben wondered if she could hear the horrified tone in his voice.

_Seems like we’re getting a little bit of togetherness, now after all this time._ He could practically hear the smile in her voice.   _The walls are all breaking down._

Ben paled.  If the barriers between them were disintegrating, that must mean they were drawing close to the time when Glory’s portal could be opened.  

"So...what?" he said, as casually as he could manage.  "You're not satisfied with taking over every other part of my life?  Now you're going to talk me to death as well?"

_Oh now, sweetheart, don't get your panties in a twist.  Been together for twenty-five years now and we never talk.  I'd say we're overdue._

"Really? Personally I'd be fine with waiting another couple decades."

_Sorry to disappoint you, Benji, but I don't have that long.  I've got my Key and I'm hitching a ride out of here in just a few days._

Icy terror filled Ben's stomach.  Glory had Buffy's sister?  No, it wasn't possible.  If she had Dawn, then all was lost.  Glory would have her moment and it would be the end of the line for him.

"Y-you have the Key?" Ben stammered.  He looked around the room wildly, as if Dawn might be tied up in a corner somewhere. "Where is she?"

There was a long pause before Glory's voice came again.

_She?_

Ben let out a small curse.  It was a stupid slip.  "It," he corrected quickly.  "I meant to say ‘it’.”

_I really don't think you did,_ Glory said triumphantly.   _So...the vampire lied to me...guess that isn't such a surprise...and the Key is female.  Thanks a million for that, baby.  That little tidbit helps a lot.  What else are you holding back from me, sweet Ben?_

"Oh no, I'm through talking with you!"  Ben tore the remaining shoe off his foot and threw it across the room vindictively.  

_Aww, come on Benji!_ Glory's voice had turned teasing.   _After all this time together?  Help a girl out._

"Do you really believe, with all I know, that I'll just drop what I'm doing and help you?" Ben asked.  "You think I don't know about the part where if you get your Key back, I cease to exist?"

_Maybe not._

That stopped him up short.  "W-what?"

_Stop and think, baby.  You help me get my Key, return me to my seat of power, I become a god again..._

"And I disappear forever, everything I care about down the drain."

_...Unless someone up there likes you.  Give up the Key...I could like you a lot._

For a moment, Ben wavered.  If Glory returning to her home didn't kill him, then maybe....

No, no, no, no.  That was a terrible thought.  If Glory got her way, then Dawn would die and countless others as well.  And _he_ wouldn't be any better off anyway.  If she never found the Key, she would be stuck forever...and yeah, that meant a lifetime of waking up in dresses and heels for him, but surely that was worth so many lives, as long as his boss never saw it...

"T-that's not gonna happen," he said, wishing his voice held more conviction.  "I could always just keep you from your Key, find a way to shut you out permanently, and go on living anyway."

_Oh, and how are you going to do that?_

"I'm thinking drugs," Ben said viciously.  "Right combination, and I'll be able to keep you buried where you belong." He ripped the red dress off his body and began rummaging around the room for his scrubs.  The minions usually kept a few clothes for him mixed in with Glory's stuff.  "In fact," he added.  "Think I'll go to the hospital and start experimenting now."

_And how, exactly, are you going to do that?_

The tone in her voice made him pause.  "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

_Check the date, Benjamin.  It's already May.  You've been out for a month._

Ben collapsed onto the bed again.  "A month?  A whole month?"

_Remind me again,_ Glory said sweetly, _human jobs...they usually involve employees showing up, don't they?  And if they don't show..._

"You bitch," Ben said with gritted teeth.  "And you think I'm just going to help you, after the way you've ruined my life?"

_Just the way of the world, sweetheart.  I'm strong, you're weak. This is the way things are._ She gave a small pause.   _But it's not the way they have to be.  If you help me get the Key, whoever she is, you can have a real life, one that's all your own.  No sharing bodies, no dying--now or ever._

Ben hesitated.  She could make it so that he'd never die?  That was...that was...

That was beside the point.  Other people _would_ die.  And he couldn't do that to them.

Could he?

"I won't make a deal with you, Glory," he said.

He could feel her presence in his mind grow more frustrated.   _When exactly did you get stupid?_ She asked.   _I'm offering immortality here._

"I believe you," he answered quickly.  "That's not the problem.  You make me immortal, then what?  I'd have to help you kill an innocent person to do it and I won't be able to live with that, not even for a day.  Forget about eternity."

Glory seemed to find that amusing.  

_Oh, but as long as you're not the one getting your hands dirty, you're fine with it, aren't you Benjamin?  A Queller demon is just so much cleaner, so efficient.  Practically hygienic of you, to rid the hospital of all those crazies crowding it._

His stomach did a small flip.  Summoning the Queller hadn't been pleasant, but it had been necessary.  The mental ward had been overflowing and people had been starting to take notice.

"T-that was different," he said weakly.  "I was cleaning up your messes, just like I've done my whole damn life."

He felt her smile grow wider.  

_So it wasn't the first time,_ she cooed.   _You've cleaned up other…messes…before._

"Only because I had to!  You think it's easy, having to deal with the fallout of everything _you_ do?  Nothing is mine, is it?  This life, this body--it's all infected.  The only thing I cared about, you've taken away from me."

_Baby, baby, baby Ben,_ Glory purred.   _You don't need to justify yourself to me.  It's not like I care about the witless meatsacks anyway.  It's every girl for herself, in this world and every other._ She paused a beat.   _But don't worry.  If doing the dirty yourself bothers you now, that'll change too.  When you're immortal, all that crap you've been carrying around inside...the guilt, the anger, the crazy-making pain...it all just melts away like ice cream._

Ben was listening intently.  Glory's voice became even more seductive.   _Trust me,_  she said.   _When all this is over, I can set you up real nice.  I can make everything exactly the way you always wanted it._

Something prickled in the back of his mind, but it didn't feel invasive.  It felt like an invitation.  Hesitantly, he relented and allowed Glory to share the mental picture she was drawing.

The bedroom disappeared and Ben found himself staring into a large, sleek office.  A modern ebony desk stood in the center of the room, and he saw another version of himself sitting in the plush chair behind it.  Ben couldn't be sure what age his vision-self was supposed to be--he seemed to have matured without actually aging.  There was an air of confidence about him.  Behind the seated figure were floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the bright blue of the Pacific Ocean.  The remaining walls were covereing in plaques and awards, the accolades of a lifetime of medical experience.

_Think what you could accomplish,_ Glory said.   _Think about all the break-throughs you could make, with immortal years to do the research.  And your colleagues would all respect you.  You could have it all..._

"N-no!"  Ben's voice came out strangled.  "I don't--I don't want it to be like that.  I don't want it to happen that way!"

_You could have her as well._

"W-what?" he managed.

The scene shifted again.  Ben found himself staring into an airy living room, a house party in full swing.  Soft chatter hummed all around him as men in slacks and polo shirts meandered around the room, drinks in hand.  Well-manicured women accompanied them, arms slipped through their husbands' as they chatted with one another.  His vision-self stood in the center, enjoying the atmosphere.  A very familiar-looking blonde was handing him a glass of champagne and brushing his cheek with a light kiss.  Small hands tugged at her pencil skirt and Buffy reached down to pick up a boy with brown hair and green eyes.  Balancing him on her hip, she smiled up at her husband as he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her about the room.

Ben watched in fascination.  He didn't know Buffy Summers all that well, truth be told.  She seemed nice enough, though, and no one could deny that she was pretty.  It had been a long time since he had been interested in a girl enough to give her his number, medical school not having left him with much time for dating.  True, she was pretty heavy on the mixed signals, agreeing to get coffee and then backing out at the last minute.  But at least she hadn't rejected him outright.  

He shook himself.   _Snap of out of it, Ben.  Glory's just selling you fantasies._

"She would never," he told Glory.  "She'd never forgive me if I just--"

_She would never know,_ the hellgod said sweetly.   _Whoever this Key is to her, she's been inserted into this world artificially.  She doesn't belong here, doesn't belong with them.  She's just a monk-made specialty._ Glory paused for a moment.  Then her next words slipped through his mind like tendrils of ivy.   _And what can be made...can be unmade.  It would be as if she never existed._

Ben's eyes had never left the vision-Buffy in his head.  She looked so happy, not at all as if she were married to a man who had killed her sister.  And she was so beautiful and poised, balancing his son on one hip while still chatting with their guests.  His mouth opened in a slight pant as she pulled his vision-self toward her tenderly, giving him a warm kiss as several of his colleagues looked on enviously.  She looked like...like the perfect doctor's wife.

"Promise Buffy won't come to any harm?" he asked quietly.

_Give me the Key and everything will work out just like you see.  You'll be immortal...and well-respected...and she'll be safe...and happy..._ Glory's voice lowered to her most honeyed tone.   _And yours._

There was a split second before Ben answered when it occurred to him that this whole thing was horrible, that it was wrong.  But the visions were so enchanting--and the alternative so frightening--that he pushed that conviction away.

"O-okay," he said hesitantly.  "I'll do it."  He blinked as the mental vision cleared from his head.  He was still sitting on a bed in this dank mansion, half-dressed in his scrubs.

_Good,_ the god in his head said excitedly.   _Now...tell me about the Key._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will return to Spuffy and the Scoobies in the next chapter, I promise!


	5. Trust

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

The sound of the clock in the Magic Box was deafening.  Buffy gritted her teeth, trying to ignore it.  Normally it didn’t bother her.  Scooby meetings were frequently talkative affairs that drowned out all background noises, and even their research parties involved a fair amount of conversation and page shuffling.  But the Scoobies were wrapped in their own affairs at the moment.  Willow and Tara were preparing for a final, Xander was at the construction site, and Anya was downstairs taking inventory.  So it was just her and Giles this morning, pouring over the same useless books they had been studying for four damn weeks.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

Buffy closed her eyes.  The sound was so ominous.  It reminded her of one of those action movies Xander liked so much, the ones where there was a bomb hidden in a room somewhere and then when everyone found it they realized the countdown had less than a minute to go and no one knew which wire to cut so they just gave it their best guess and then changed their minds at the last minute and cut the other wire.  Only most of the time in the movies, they guessed correctly.  They cut the right wire and the countdown would freeze with two seconds to spare.  

Buffy couldn’t afford to cut things that close.  Not with Dawnie’s safety on the line.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

Four weeks.  That was how long it had been.  Four weeks since Glory had kidnapped Spike.  Four weeks since he had sent her down the wrong path.  Four weeks of uncertainty, wondering where the hellgod was hiding and what she might be planning.  Four weeks of radio silence from the Watcher’s Council.

Honestly, Buffy wasn’t so sure bringing them onboard had been worth all the aggravation.  Apart from telling her that Glory was a god, they hadn’t been much use.  If Giles hadn’t managed to bring home two entire suitcases full of new research material, it would have been a complete waste.  And unfortunately, even the new books were starting to look like another dead end.

Buffy opened her eyes and tried to focus her attention on the page in front of her.  It was gibberish.  She turned the page.  More gibberish.  She frowned.  There was something funny about the letters—

“Dammit!” She slammed the book shut.  “Giles!  This one isn’t even in English!”

He looked up from his reading.  “Here,” he said, taking the book from her.  “Let me see.”  He flipped through the pages briefly, frowning.  “This one is from my collection.  My apologies, I don’t know how it got mixed in with the others.  I’d almost forgotten I had it."  He paused.  "It’s written in Coptic.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose.  “You say that like it means something.”

Giles let out a long-suffering sigh.  “Egyptian.  The Coptic language is descended from Late Egyptian.”

“Well, you read it then,” she said, reaching for another volume.  “I’ll find something else.”

“I’m afraid I can't.”

That brought her up short.  “Why not?”

He cleared his throat in embarrassment.  “I have never studied Coptic.  Or Egyptian, for that matter.”

“Oh.”  Buffy couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of her voice.  “I-I thought you could read just about anything.”

He gave a wry smile.  “I appreciate your vote of confidence.  But unfortunately, no one is quite that good.  I can handle quite a few modern languages…and about half a dozen dead ones…even a smattering of one or two demon dialects.  But I’ve never managed to find the time for Coptic.”  He gave an apologetic shrug.  “If it’s any consolation, it’s high on my list of languages to learn soon.”

Buffy smiled in spite of herself.  “Well, I guess I’ll forgive you then.  Given, you know, my complete failure to remember a single word of high school French.”  She paused, curious.  “Why do you even have it if you can’t read it?”

“There was a second volume,” he said quietly.  “A translation written in Greek.  I could read that one.”

She crinkled her forehead.  “What happened to it?”

Giles fingered the pages of the book lovingly for a moment.  “It was in the library.”

Oh.  Buffy looked down at the table in front of her.  “The school library?”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh.  “I tried to save as many volumes as I could before your graduation.  But there wasn’t much time.  In the end, most of them were lost in the explosion.”

Her stomach did a guilty flip.  She hadn’t ever really thought about what Giles might have lost when she blew up the Mayor.  But Buffy knew how much he had loved all those dusty old books. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

Giles shook his head.  “Don’t be,” he said.  He placed his hand lightly on her arm.  “It was a necessary sacrifice.  The Mayor had to be stopped.  You did well.”

Buffy felt a warm surge of affection for her Watcher.  “Thank you.”

He looked away and they shared a few moments of awkward silence. Buffy glanced at the books strewn across the table.  “I guess those other library books would have been really helpful right about now.  We’ve been through everything you brought back from London.”  She pointed at a large volume in the middle of the table.  “I think I’ve read that one three times already.”

“Yes, I must confess I’m a bit disappointed,” Giles said with another sigh.  “I had hoped adding to my collection might improve our search, but so far none of these texts seem relevant.”

“But the Watchers are researching, too, right?” Buffy asked.  “In that central library that you always drool about?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “I suppose they are.”

Something about his tone put Buffy on edge.  “What do you mean, ‘you suppose’?  You think they’re still withholding information from us?”

Giles rubbed his temples.  “I wouldn’t put it past Quentin to do something like that.  But frankly I’m more worried about what they _don’t_ know than what they do know.”  He looked at Buffy seriously.  “We’re the ones withholding information, Buffy.  I know you don’t like to hear this, but it might make a difference to their research, knowing that the Key is human.”

It suddenly seemed to Buffy as if there was a chill in the air.  She crossed her arms.  “No.  Forget it.  There’s no way we’re telling them about Dawn."

“I know you don't trust them,” he said quickly.  “I’m not suggesting we go announcing it to the whole Council.”

“Then what are you suggesting?” she asked suspiciously.

He hesitated.  “I-I think I need to return to London.”

“W-what?” Buffy’s voice came out as a squeak.  She jumped up, panic rising in her chest.  “You’re leaving me?  Again?  Now?"

Giles held out his hands reassuringly.  “It would just be for a few days,” he said.  “Buffy, please hear me out.”

Trembling, she sat down again.  Giles gave her a moment before continuing.

“Buffy, listen,” he said.  “I know every time the Council shows up here in Sunnydale, they seem like a united front.  Travers always makes sure of that.  But you must understand…the Watchers behave just like every other organization.  There are feuds and in-fighting. Not everyone likes Travers.  Not everyone approves of his policies.  He’s made enemies over the years.”

“And you think one of those people might be more willing to help us?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “Trying to get a feel for the current politics won’t be easy.  I’ve been away for so long now.  But...if I were to find someone who wasn’t enamored with the Council leadership, we could have a useful ally.”  He paused.  “It would also give me the chance to look through the central library myself.  Now that we know more about Glory, we can focus on the Key.  I might be able to find something the others are overlooking.”

Buffy shook her head.  “It’s too risky.  What if you think you’ve found someone you can trust and they go blabbing everything to Travers?”

“There is always that risk,” he said.  “But Buffy, I swear I will not say anything about Dawn unless I’m certain it will remain confidential.”

She hesitated.  “But what will you tell them?  The rest of the Council, I mean. They’ll want to know why you’re coming back, won’t they?  And they already have people researching the Key.  What if they say they don’t need you?”

“I can give them a false lead,” he said.  “I can tell them that we have reason to believe the Key may be located in a public place here in Sunnydale, but we don’t know where, precisely.  As I have spent several years as a resident here, I would be far more likely than any of them to recognize a public artifact if I should come across a description of it in a book somewhere."

“I-I guess that makes sense," Buffy said, fear pinching at her stomach.  “But I still don’t like it.  I don't like it at all.  I don’t want anyone on the Council to know about Dawn.  I told you—I don’t trust them as far _you_ could throw them.”

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  “I understand that.  But Buffy…do you have a better idea?  Because truthfully, this is the last option I can think to try.”

She winced.  He had a point.  They were running out of ideas.  And if it might help them find out what Glory wanted with Dawn…

“But what if Glory shows up while you’re gone?” she asked.  “What then?”

“She might,” he admitted.  “She might show up any minute…or she might not show up for several more weeks.  She’s been quiet for so many weeks now.  Maybe she’ll stay that way a little while longer.  But even if she doesn’t, I don’t see how we have any hope of stopping her if we don’t know what she wants, where Dawn fits into her plans.”

Buffy swallowed.  “I suppose you’re right,” she said reluctantly.  “I just don’t know what to do if she finds out the truth.”

Giles looked her straight in the eye.  “You run.  As fast as you can, as far as you can.”  He put his glasses back on.  “It’s probably what we should all be doing already.”

She shook her head.  “If we ran right now, Glory would know something was up.  As long as she still thinks Spike’s ring is the Key, we shouldn’t give her any reason to look too hard at Dawn.”

He lifted an eyebrow.  “You’re making the fairly serious assumption that she doesn’t already know,” he said.  “I know you don’t believe that he said anything, but Buffy…you cannot trust Spike.  Somewhere in all of this, his self-interest is at play.  I find it highly suspicious that Glory disappeared after interrogating him.”

She sighed.  Giles had been open his skepticism about Spike ever since they’d rescued him.  Buffy supposed she couldn't blame him.  She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the weird vampire either.  But as uncomfortable as it was to admit, Buffy was still confident that he had not said anything to Glory about Dawn.  Their conversation had made that much clear.

"I know you do," she said slowly.  "But Spike's probably the one who's bought us all this time in the first place.  For all we know, Glory is in hiding because she still thinks his ring is the Key."

“So he says.”  He paused.  “But you should not forget that he has betrayed you once before.”

Buffy bit her lip.  She shouldn't say it.  It was harsh and hurtful, and Giles was being so nice.  But the words slipped out anyway.

"So have you."

She regretted the comment instantly.  Giles looked as if he had been slapped.  

"Buffy, I--"

Buffy quickly reached out and put a hand on his arm, mimicking his gesture from earlier.  She looked him straight in the eye.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I didn't mean it that way.  I'm not trying to dredge up the past.  I'm really, really not."

Giles looked down at the books in front of him.  "It wouldn't be unfair if you were."

"Yes, it would," she insisted.  "That was over two years ago.  And I trust you.  Completely.  With my life...and with Dawn's.  We wouldn't be having this conversation at all if I didn't."  She paused, wondering how much she really believed her next words.  "All I meant was...maybe we should give Spike the benefit of a doubt as well."

Giles stared at her for several minutes.  Buffy could tell that he wanted to protest.  She could practically hear his arguments in her head.  Spike was soulless.  He only cared about himself.  He probably had told Glory everything and then lied to them all.  

But the reminder of his betrayal on her birthday seemed to have deflated him.  In the end, he just looked back at her with a touch of sadness and said, "Please proceed with caution, Buffy.  I still don't trust him."

“I get that,” she said, squeezing his arm.  “You don't have to trust him.  But...can you trust _me_?”

Giles hesitated, then nodded. 

Buffy let out her breath.  “Good.  I promise, I’m not going to start giving him nuclear codes or anything.  And if it turns out he’s betrayed us, I can handle him.”  She gave a small smile.  “Actually, now that I think about it...with that chip in his head, I think even Xander could handle Spike.”

He snorted.

Buffy let her smile fade to frown.  “Let me worry about him.  You worry about the Council.  As far as I’m concerned, they’re the real threat.”

“Then I have the green light to call them?”

She took a deep breath.  “I don’t see what other choice we have.  At least this way we’re doing _something.”_

He nodded.  “I’d best call them now.  It’s already four o’clock their time.”

Buffy gave him a weak smile.  "Okay, then.  Just...be careful what you say?"

"I will," he promised, and disappeared to make the call.

Buffy busied herself with straightening up the books, putting them back on the shelf in alphabetical order Giles preferred.  She tried to ignore the soft voice coming from the back of the store.  

Guilt and fear were waging war inside her.  She shouldn't have brought up the Cruciamentum.  She knew Giles was still ashamed of what he had done.  And he _had_  come through, in the end.  It wasn't fair of her to bring up now, with everything else going on.  But Buffy couldn't help herself.  She'd stood up to the Watchers Council several times, but somehow they still always managed to come back again to make her feel five years old and two inches tall.

And Giles kept turning to them.  It was like he couldn't get them out of his system, like they had some sort of hook in him that they kept using to draw him back into their fold.  

Buffy gnawed at her lower lip.  She knew he got homesick from time to time.  He'd get this faraway look in his eye whenever he talked about his time before Sunnydale, about his colleagues and the library and the conferences and all the things that made him, well, _Giles._   It must be hard on him, she realized, always being around a bunch of So-Cal kids who barely managed one language, let alone dozens. 

She finished putting the last book on the shelf and glanced over to the back of the store.  Giles was talking softly into the phone, his back turned to her.  Buffy gulped.  It was selfish, but she couldn't lose him.  She needed him, here with her.  And it had nothing to do with books or languages.

She saw him hang the receiver back on the wall.  He turned to face her slowly, tension pouring off him in waves.

"Well?" she asked hesitantly.

"I think they bought it," he said.  "They've booked me a flight out of LAX this afternoon.  I'll have to leave immediately if I'm to make it there in time."

"When will you be back?" Buffy asked, trying not to let him see the tears that were pricking at the corners of her eyes. 

Giles sighed.  "I'm not sure.  If nothing comes up around here, I may try to fly back on Wednesday," he said.  "But I'll check in with you every day.  If something happens, I'll be on the first flight back, I promise."

She nodded.  "Okay."

Giles looked around the Magic Box.  "Do me a favor?" he asked.  "Last time I was gone, Anya...well...I'd like not to return to a wrecked shop this time around."

Buffy gave a strangled laugh.  "Okay, I'll look in on the shop again this afternoon, make sure there are no trolls running around."

He smiled.  "I appreciate it."  He folded his jacked over his arm and stepped closer, looking at her in concern.  "Are you sure you're alright with this?"

She gave him her bravest smile.  "I'll manage," she said.

He hesitated, his eyes shadowed with guilt.  She mentally kicked herself for having put it there. 

“Buffy,” he said.  “About Spike…I do hope you understand I’m only concerned for your welfare.  As your Watcher, I would be remiss if I failed to provide you with the best guidance I am able to offer.” He paused, looking down.  “A-and for myself…I wouldn’t want anything to…I mean, I couldn’t bear it if…”

"I know," she assured him.  "Travers was right.  You're...well, you're the only father I want."

Giles softened, ears tinged slightly pink.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  “That’s very….” His voice trailed off as he blinked furiously.  After a moment, he cleared his throat.  “Then…you’ll think about what I said?  You’ll be careful around him?” 

"As long you promise to be careful around the Council."

"I will."  He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, looking back at her.  "You've seemed a lot happier these past few years, Buffy.  Even after Riley…and your mother.  It's been nice to watch.  I just don't want to see...well, I don't think it’s  _healthy_ , letting another vampire into your life, even as an ally. I don't want to see you hurt again."

Buffy swallowed as he left.

***********

 

The sewers were an odd place to be whistling cheerfully, but Spike couldn’t help himself.  It had been years since he had been this happy.  Maybe even decades.  For once, things seemed to be looking up for him.  The chip was out of his head, his body was on the mend, and the Slayer was being nice to him.

He was over the bloody moon.

True, it had been rough going for a while there.  The first days after Glory had been one of the most painful experiences of his unlife.  Even breaking his back and spending months in that damn wheelchair hadn’t been quite as bad, though it had taken longer to heal.  It had been nearly a week before he felt fit enough to make it more than a block from Restfield, and he’d been forced to avoid even minor skirmishes with his own kind.

But Buffy had been as good as her word.  She’d brought him blood from the butcher’s shop every single day, occasionally supplemented with nearly-expired bags of hospital blood.  He’d been uncertain about those in the beginning.  Human blood was the quickest route to a full recovery, but he’d been worried that it might undermine his willpower.  In the end, he’d mixed small amounts into his pig’s blood as a compromise.  It seemed to be working well enough, although Spike had to admit the cravings had become stronger.

It was a wrench, not being able to go after his natural prey when every instinct in him was screaming for warm, fresh human, straight from the tap. There had been several close calls already.  A few nights after he’d finally ventured out of his crypt, he’d run into the first serious test of his resistance.  Some hare-brained bird who’d had reminded him of Harmony had gone tromping across the cemetery after dark, as if she were just begging to be take-out for the closest fledgling she could find.  To top it all off, it’d seemed she’d got into some sort of scrape already, and had managed to bloody her knees.  The smell had driven Spike near wild with hunger and he’d vamped out.  The girl had screamed and fled, not even realizing that she was stroking his instinct for the chase.  It had taken every last ounce of his self-control not to run after her.

But Spike hadn’t survived this long without some ability to put reason over instinct.  As impulsive as he was, he was still capable of keeping his desires in check.  It was all about mind over matter, and finding an outlet for his natural instincts when the urges became too strong.  Hunting wildlife was helping with that, at least a little.  It was something he’d done before, when he’d found himself in places where humans were scarce.  For the most part he’d been keeping to whatever he could find in the cemeteries, squirrels and rabbits and birds and such.  They weren’t more than a mouthful, but at least their blood tasted better than pig, and it was nice to make his own kills again.  Maybe...if he managed to win Buffy’s trust and tell her his secret without meeting a dusty end…maybe she’d let him take on bigger game, outside of town.

For the first time since he’d known her, Spike thought he might be able to win her over.

The Slayer’s attitude toward him had changed dramatically over the past several weeks.  Not only had she brought him the needed blood, but after he had begun to heal, she had actually invited him to patrol with her.

Well, _invite_ was a strong word.  It was more that she had stopped telling him to bugger off whenever he tagged along.  And then, slowly, she had started dropping Niblet off at his crypt after school let out, and snap at him in that bossy voice of hers to walk her home after dark.  Which of course he did, like the ponce that he was.  The Slayer would meet him on the porch, send Dawn inside to be babysat by the witches, and hand him a stake.  And then they would be off.

When pressed, she had claimed it was all just temporary.  She just wanted another fighter with her in case Glory showed up.  But he’d seen her face when they’d wandered into that nest the other night.  Their movements had fallen into rhythm with one another almost naturally, as if they were born to fight together.  Spike supposed it came from having fought against each other so often.  He could anticipate her moves and she had anticipated his.  He had become her left side and she had covered his right.

And what a magnificent dance it had been.

Spike smiled to himself.  It had been a good four weeks.  If it weren’t for the hellgod who was still after his Niblet, everything would be perfect.

Well, he supposed it would also be nice if old Rupert wasn’t trying to sabotage everything he was trying to build with Buffy.  Her little Scooby gang seemed mostly ambivalent about the whole thing and Harris had slowly slid back into his usual hostility, but they weren’t the real problem.  They were just her peers.  The Watcher was someone she looked up to, someone used to being treated as an authority on the supernatural.  And it was clear by all the irritated looks and glares of suspicious he kept flinging Spike’s way that he disapproved of the whole thing.

Spike sighed.  He was headed to the Magic Box now, and about to face the ringer with Rupert in a serious way.  If his information was correct, this wasn’t something any of them could afford to take lightly.  If it turned out to be just a rumor, he knew that all eyes would be on him for having led them on a wild goose chase.

He reached the sewer entrance closest to the shop.  Taking an unneeded breath, he unfolded the blanket under his arm and threw it over his head as he climbed the short latter.  Steeling himself for the onslaught of the sun’s rays, he removed the cover and made a run for it.

Spike made it just in time.  The blanket burst into flames just as he reached the Magic Box door.  

“Coming through!” he shouted. 

 He threw the burning piece of cloth on the floor and stomped out the flames.  When he looked up, four faces were staring at him.  Two of them he didn’t recognize, a couple whose eyes widened with shock as they took in his wild appearance and the smoldering blanket.  The wife set down the jar of newt’s eyes she was holding and practically dragged her husband out of the store.

“Come back again soon!” Anya called after them.  She turned to give Spike a scowl.  “Do you have to barge in that way?  You’re chasing away all the customers.”

Spike gave her an easy grin, knowing her sharpness wasn’t personal.

“Can’t help the sun, luv,” he said.  “‘Sides, any twit what walks into a magic shop should be prepared for the unexpected.”

Anya snorted.  “You’d be surprised.”  Her eyes flicked to the tattered blanket.  “Don’t put scorch marks on the wood floor,” she said shortly, and returned to the register, grumbling under her breath.  His smile widened.  The bird was alright, for a demon who’d turned White Hat.  Bleeding tragic taste in men, obviously, but that seemed to be a common problem in this circle.

He turned his attention to the last remaining face.  The Slayer was staring at him with eyebrows raised.

“Hey there, Buffy,” he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.  How was it that being in love always made him feel like a grammar school prat going through his first crush?

She crossed her arms.  “Mind telling me what’s got you out at such a flammable time of day?”

He blinked.  There was an edge to her tone that he hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Heard something you might be interested in,” he said, as casually as he could manage.  “Where’s your Watcher?”

Buffy hesitated.  “He left for LAX this morning,” she said.  “He’s probably boarding a flight to London right about now.”

Spike was stunned.  “He _left_?  Now?  Of all times?”

She stuck out her chin defensively.  “We didn’t have any choice.  We’re running out of leads about Glory.”

“Not anymore,” he said quietly.  “That’s what I was coming to talk to you about.  Think I might know where she’s been hiding.”

Buffy sat down. “You do?” she said weakly.

He pulled up another chair and joined her.  “Been holed up at Willy’s all day,” he said.  “Couple of vamps in there were going on ‘bout how no one can go near the Crawford mansion anymore on account of some superpowered bitch who’s taken over the place.”

She frowned.  “Why would she go there?”

Spike cleared his throat, not wanting to admit the truth.  “Because every demon in Sunnydale knows you don’t go near it anymore,” he said reluctantly.

Buffy’s face fell a little bit.  “They do?”

He nodded.

She bit her lip.  “I don’t like the place,” she said softly.

“Yeah, me either,” he said.  That mansion held nothing but bad memories for him.  And it didn’t surprise him that the Slayer didn’t like being someplace that reminded her of her wanker ex.  “And it might be just a rumor.  Demons talk a lot in their cups.  Doesn’t always mean it’s true.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Anya piped up.  “I knew these demons once who—“

The doorbell rang and another customer walked in.  She dropped her thought mid-sentence and turned to greet them, a bright smile plastered onto her face.  “Welcome to the Magic Box!  We’re having a ten percent sale on everything in the front of the store.”

“So,” Buffy asked, lowering her voice so the customers wouldn’t overhear.  “Did you question the vamps who were saying this?”

He shook his head.  “Not exactly welcome with that crowd anymore, pet,” he said darkly.  “They didn’t know I was listening.”

She hesitated.  “If they did, would they tip her off?”

“Doubtful,” he said.  “They’d have to be pretty thick to go running to a hellgod and tell her they let something slip.  Even fledges have more sense than that.”

Buffy was silent for a moment.  He couldn’t be sure, but Spike thought he saw a hint of suspicion in her eyes.  He swallowed, biting back his disappointment.  Maybe they weren't as far along in the trust department as he’d been hoping.

“So I guess the question is,” she said finally, "what do we do now?”

Spike shrugged.  “Dunno.  Figured if your Watcher was here, he’d have something to say about it.”  Prob’ly nothing good, but he would have _something_  to say.

“But he’s not,” Buffy sighed.  “And he’s probably already in the air, so there’s no hope of getting ahold of him anytime soon.”

He furrowed his brow.  “You’re saying you’re gonna wait on this?  What if she’s ready to make her move?”

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly.  “Maybe…maybe tonight we should try scouting the place first.  See if it’s more than just a rumor.  Then we can decide what to do from there.”

He nodded.  “You want me to swing by your place later on, then?”

“I suppose,” she said slowly.  “I’ll meet you on the front porch when you drop off Dawn.”

Spike suppressed another flicker of disappointment.  He didn’t mind watching the Bit after school, but he still kept hoping that Buffy might reissue his invitation to her house.  Unfortunately, she hadn’t given any sign of relenting on that front.

“Thank you for shopping at the Magic Box!  Please come again with your money.”  Anya waved her customer out of the shop and turned back to them.  “Are you finished talking yet?  I’m closing the store early today.  Xander and I have a date.”

Buffy looked at her in surprise.  “It’s Thursday,” she said.

Anya looked offended.  “So?  If you two can go on a date on a weekday, why can’t we?”

Spike watched Buffy’s face flush a beautiful shade of pink.  

“We’re _not_ going on a date,” Buffy protested.  “This is Slayer business.”

“Is there a high chance of you getting into a fight and killing things?” Anya huffed.

“W-well…” Buffy’s blush got even deeper.

“Prob’ly.  There’s always something to kill,” Spike supplied helpfully, trying to hide his grin.

“And is that not what you did on dates with your last two boyfriends?”

Buffy didn’t seem to know what to say to that.  Spike stopped bothering to hide his smirk.  Bless Anyanka and her blunt mouth.

“She’s got a point there, Slayer,” he said.  “Want me to bring roses when I come?”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“Or what?  You’ll stake me?  Sing me a new tune, luv.  That one’s getting a bit worn.”  He stood up, wrapping himself in the tattered blanket once again.  “I’ll be off, then.  Best get some kip before Niblet shows up.  Don’t want to be yawning through our big romantic night.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the Slayer stomp her foot in frustration as he left.

 

**********

 

Twenty miles outside of Sunnydale, Glory watched as her minions finished arranging the bodies on the desert floor.  The Knights of Byzantium were such irritating pests.  She should have killed them weeks ago.  But now she knew who the real Key was and what she needed to do to bleed her.  And as it turned out, the armored imbeciles hadn’t known much more than she had.  There was nothing more to be gained from leaving them alive.

“We have finished, O Supremely Powerful One,” Murk said, approaching with a bow.

Glory smiled.  “Begin the spell,” she said.

The minions gathered in a circle and began to chant.  The desert sands stirred, covering the bodies as they sank into the ground.  Within a few minutes, no sign remained that the Knights of Byzantium had ever existed.  

Satisfied, Glory reached out with her mind, sensing the nervous presence of her new ally.

“You’re turn, baby,” she said, and let him take over.

A half hour later, the van made its way back into Sunnydale and stopped at a pay phone.  Ben stepped out of the driver’s side, picked up the receiver, and dialed a number.  After a few rings, there was a small click as someone picked up the other end.

“Summers residence.”

“Hello, Buffy?” he said, keeping his voice even.  “It’s Ben."


	6. Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from "The Prom," "Bad Girls," and "Spiral." Thank you so much to Sunnydalesis and flootzavut for all their wonderful beta-work.

Buffy hurried down the streets of downtown Sunnydale, wishing the sun would set already.  Between Giles leaving and the conversation with Spike and the possibility of finding Glory’s new lair, the tension that had been rising inside her all day felt like it had reached snapping point.  She desperately needed a fight, preferably something that required all her energy and took her mind off her worries.  Something brutal, that ended with lots of dust or snapped necks and monster blood.  Maybe all three.

She grimaced.  That wasn’t right, was it?  It wasn’t healthy.  Ordinary humans didn’t solve their problems that way, not unless they were seriously evil serial killers or something. 

But that was the problem.  Slayers weren’t ordinary people.

_"Is there a high chance of you getting into a fight and killing things?"_

Damn Anya and her blunt mouth.  Why couldn’t Xander date someone normal, someone who didn’t say every single thing that popped into that weird and disturbing brain of hers?  Why, of all the girls in Sunnydale, did he have to pick one who had spent the last eleven centuries slaughtering wayward men?

But unfortunately, she was right.  And Xander wasn’t the only one attracted to lovers with a flair for violence.

Even with his soul, Angel had been a killer.  Sure, he might not have hunted humans anymore, but he had accompanied her on patrols.  That had been one of the nice things about dating him.  Patrolling was fun, for the most part.  But it got to be lonely after a while…just her and the undead and the dead-dead to keep each other company.  When she and Angel had started dating, it had been refreshing to have someone who could keep up with her.  True, there were times when she had been worried that all they ever did was kill things together.  It had come up a couple of times, there toward the end of their relationship.  But her complaints back then hadn’t really been about having a slaying companion.  She had just wanted to vary up their routine with some other, less violent dates as well.

Unfortunately, Angel had taken things the wrong way.  He’d grown more and more withdrawn, and then without warning he had walked out of her life.  He’d claimed it was for her sake.

_“You deserve more,” he said, soulful eyes pained in the dim light of the tunnel.  "You deserve something outside of demons and darkness.  You should be with someone who can take you into the light.  Someone who can make love to you.”_

At the time, Buffy had wanted to protest.  She had tried to argue that she didn’t need those things, that she didn’t mind working around the stuff that normally went with relationships.  She was the Slayer, after all.  She wasn’t ever going to have a normal, white-picket-fence sort of life.

_“Right,” he answered.  “You’ll always be the Slayer.  But that’s all the more reason why you should have a real relationship instead of this…this freak show.”_

Buffy felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.  That comment had hurt, after all that they had been through.  Angel had been so convinced that they were wrong together, that he couldn’t be what she needed.  And so he’d sacrificed the love they’d shared so she could find that elusive Mr. Normal he wanted for her.

And Buffy had tried to honor his wishes.  She really had.  Riley had been…well, on the surface, he had been everything Angel was not.  He was human.  He had a heartbeat and a reflection.  He could go out for picnics in the daylight and liked to take Sunday afternoon drives through the countryside.  He attended frat parties and enjoyed basketball.  He could laugh and have sex.  (Those things honestly _had_ been nice.)  And he’d talked about his hometown in Iowa as if it were the most wholesome place on earth.  Buffy suspected that it probably was.

But none of those things had made Riley normal.  Underneath his dimples and Norman Rockwell charm, Riley had been a soldier.  And what was a soldier but another type of killer?

Granted, it hadn’t been the same with him.  Riley had approached the underworld from a different angle than the one Angel and the Watcher’s Council used.  For him, it hadn’t been about the supernatural.  It had all been about science and technology.  See vampire?  Tag it, bag it, bring it back to headquarters.  Demons were just sub-terrestrials, animals that the government had a vested interest in studying. There had been no _need_ with him, no sacred calling.

For a while, it had been fun, seeing her nightly duty through Riley’s eyes.  Before she’d met him, Buffy had only ever used a modern weapon on the Judge, who couldn’t be defeated any other way.  But Riley had been all about the gadgets.  Every time she turned around, he’d be strapping on some piece of impressive high-tech gear designed specifically for tracking “hostiles.”  Of course, a lot of that had disappeared when the Initiative collapsed, but Riley never quite got over his reliance on modern weaponry.  Even this past year, he’d kept a small stockpile of grenades and other firepower.

Buffy could certainly see the advantage of his approach.  It was an easy way to wipe out a whole nest of vampires, and even tough demons like Fyarls couldn’t survive an explosion.  But after the initial novelty had worn off, Buffy had found herself unhappy with patrolling that way.  Old-fashioned as they were, she preferred her trusty stake and crossbow.  Somehow, tossing a grenade into a crypt didn’t seem like a fair fight.  In fact, used against creatures who normally fought with fist and fang, it felt like cheating.

And…and it hadn’t been satisfying.

She shuddered, wishing she could ignore the thought.  It was one of the things that had bothered Riley, wasn’t it?  He thought that she had some sort of fascination with vampires, that she had wanted Dracula to bite her.  That was why he had gone to the bite house, or so he’d said.  He was looking for that rush that he thought she felt when she was bitten.

But he was wrong.  She hadn’t wanted Dracula to bite her, anymore than she had wanted the Master to kill her.  The only time she’d ever wanted a vampire to bite her had been with Angel, and that had quickly turned terrifying.  Worth it, because it had saved him…but still terrifying.

Buffy sighed.  The thing was, Riley was also right.  Not about getting bitten, of course, but about her attraction to the violence.  There was something primal about slaying, about being in a hand-to-hand fight.  She closed her eyes, remembering a time before heroes and villains had started to blur together.

_“Tell me staking a vamp doesn’t get you a little bit juiced.  Come on, say it.”_

_Buffy looked away from Faith’s teasing eyes, but she couldn’t help giving a little smile.  It was true, but she still felt shy about saying it.  It wasn’t something she would ever have admitted to anyone else, even Willow._

_Faith laughed.  “You can’t fool me.  The look in your eyes, right after a kill?  You just get hungry for more."_

_Buffy shook her head.  “You’re way off base,” she said without confidence._

_Her sister-Slayer smiled.  “Tell me if you don’t get in a good slay, after a while you just start itching for a vamp to show up so you can give him a good—“  Faith finished her comment with a series of air-punches, complete with sound effects._

_“Again with the grunting.”  Buffy rolled her eyes.  “You do realize I’m not comfortable with this?”_

_Faith tossed her hair.  “Hey, slaying’s what we’re built for.  If you’re not enjoying it, you’re doing something wrong.”_

And for a short, glorious time, Buffy _had_ enjoyed it.  She had let go and reveled in the power, in the rush, in the raw ferocity that made Slayers the terror of the demon world.  It had been exhilarating…at least until a man had been killed and Faith had gone off the deep end.  After that, she’d grown more cautious, and tried not to think too hard about what her bloodlust might say about her.

Unfortunately, Spike wouldn’t let her forget.  He’d called her out on it that night in the Bronze, when she had wanted so desperately to take the high road about his killing of the Chinese Slayer.  She had shied away from the undertone in their conversation, the one that suggested he didn’t see much difference between Slayers and vampires.  And then when he had fallen in love with her, he had assumed that slaying was the way to her heart and taken her on a stakeout.

 _“And is that not what you did on dates with your last two boyfriends?”_   Anya’s brisk voice reminded her.

And Buffy couldn’t deny it.  Okay, the chains and cattle prods he’d resorted to after her initial refusal were overboard, but the stakeout?  If she hadn't been so freaked out that it was _him_ , she might have enjoyed that part.  She’d rolled her eyes and acted disgusted, but the truth was that he knew her far better than she would like to admit.  And now he was with her every night, patrolling just like Angel and Riley had done.  Just like Faith had done.  And they fit together, as naturally as if they had been made to fight side by side.

_“…I don’t think it’s healthy, letting another vampire into your life, even as an ally."_

Buffy swallowed as she turned the corner onto Revello Drive.  

Giles’ parting words had made her stomach flip.  He and Angel agreed on very little, but the both seemed to think she should stay well away from the undead, that she should live as normal a life as it was possible for a Slayer to live… She bit her lip as she made it to her front porch and fumbled with the key…But what if it wasn’t that simple?  What if the reason she couldn’t seem to escape all the darkness and death was because…because it wasn’t on the outside?  What if it was something she carried around inside her?

What if she really was just a killer?

The phone was ringing as she opened the door.  Buffy sighed as she made her way to the kitchen and answered it.  It was probably Willow or Tara.  They were taking a break from studying to pick up Dawn and walk her to Spike’s crypt this afternoon.

“Summers residence,” she said.

“Hello, Buffy?” the voice on the other line said.  “It’s Ben.”

Buffy blinked.  Well, that was a little surprising.  She had sort of assumed she would probably never hear from Ben again, after the awkward, rambling rejection message she’d left on his answering machine.

“H-hi Ben!” she said, trying to keep her voice bright and cheerful.  “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright, I guess,” he said.  “Mental ward is still pretty busy, but it’s been getting better.”  She heard him clear his throat.  “Listen, Buffy…I know this is long overdue, but I just heard about your mother.  I am so sorry.”

Buffy bit her lip.  She really didn’t want to talk about Mom right now.  “Th-thank you,” she said.  “It took us by surprise.”

“I’m sorry,” he softly.  “Sometimes that happens.  How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know…some minutes are easier than others,” she said in a shaky voice.  “I just wish I’d been there to dial an ambulance in time.”

“No, Buffy.  You can’t blame yourself for that,” Ben said quickly.  “Sometimes…sometimes terrible things happen to good people.  They shouldn’t…but they do.”  He paused.  “It’s nobody’s fault.  It’s just the way life is.”

Buffy sighed.  “So everyone keeps saying.”

“They say it because it’s true,” he said.  “Listen, I don’t want to push you into anything you’re uncomfortable with, but I actually do some counseling work for the hospital and if you need an ear…I mean…I’m not trying to…it wouldn’t be _coffee_ , but we could—“

“Coffee sounds great,” Buffy said quickly, taking herself by surprise.

“O-oh.  Are you sure?”

Buffy hesitated.  It hadn’t been that long ago that she had backed out on a date with him, claiming the timing hadn’t been right.  And she had been telling the truth then.  She had still been fresh from losing Riley and from a bad Valentine’s Day in chains and then she had watched a robot pine over a jerk who had abandoned it.  It had seemed like a good idea to try being single for a while.

Only now, singleness didn’t seem like such a great thing.  It meant that she was available…and if Spike saw their patrols the same way Anya did…well, she should be careful about not sending him any more positive signals.

Besides, Ben was nice. Dreamy brown hair and eyes aside, he was as normal as they came.  And he was a doctor.  That was good, right?  Doctors were healers, not killers.  If she were to hit it off with him, then maybe that would be a sign that there was more to her than hardness and death.

“Buffy?”  Ben’s voice sounded hesitant, and Buffy realized she had been letting him hang.

“Yes,” she said, with more confidence.  “I’m sure.  Coffee would be wonderful.”

“That’s great.  That’s really great,” he said excitedly.  “Are you free tonight?  I know it’s a weeknight, but I know this place downtown that’s really low-key.”

She winced.  “Oh! I’m sorry.  I can’t.  Not tonight.  I have…to go out…I mean…I have work.”

“Oh.  Okay,” he said slowly.  There was a long pause.  “I know I should know this already, but remind me again where you work?”

“Umm…”  Why did her mind always completely blank out when she had to come up with a cover?  “I’m…a realtor,” she managed.  “I…have to show a house…to a client.”

“A realtor, huh?” Ben said.  “That’s...interesting.  There seem to be a lot of empty houses in this town.”

“Uh-huh,” she said noncommittally.  “It’s a pretty cheap market.”  Or at least she assumed it was, given its location on the Hellmouth.

“I’ll bet.  What house are you showing?”

Buffy hesitated.  Well, what could it hurt?  “It’s the old Crawford place.”

He coughed.  “D-did you say the Crawford mansion?”

“Yes…” she said nervously.  “You know it?”

“Not really.  I just pass it on my way to work.”  He paused.  “It looks really creepy.”

“Yeah, well,” Buffy said drily.  “My client has weird tastes.”

He chuckled.  “I get you.  Well, good luck with it.  Tell Dawn I said hi.”

“I will—oh, shoot!”

“Problem?”

Buffy rubbed her eyes.  “Oh no.  It’s just I forgot I don’t have someone to watch Dawn tonight.”  Giles was gone, Xander and Anya were going on their date, and Tara and Willow’s final exam was this evening.

There was a short pause.  “You’re looking for a babysitter?  Aren’t most girls her age babysitting other kids?”

“Umm, yeah, I suppose,” she said slowly.  Most girls her age didn’t have hellgods after them, either.  “I just didn’t want to leave her alone so soon after Mom…”

“Of course,” he said.  “Well, I hate to sound like a broken record, but my evening _is_ free, if you need someone.”

That startled her.

“You’re offering to babysit?” she asked with furrowed brow.  “You do realize that this means chick flicks and ice cream, right?”

Ben chuckled.  “Well, it beats my current plans of absolutely nothing.  And I could, you know, put on that counselor hat I mentioned…make sure she’s doing alright.”

She felt a flicker of warmth.  “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Well, I do have ulterior motives, you know,” he said.  “This way at least I’ll still get to see her older sister tonight.”

Buffy laughed.  “I guess that’s pretty smooth.”

“So is that a yes?”

She hesitated.  Ben was just an ordinary human.  If Glory showed up, there probably wouldn’t be much he could do to protect Dawn.  But it was just one night.  The hellgod hadn’t shown her face in weeks.  And anyway, if Spike was right and the mansion was her new lair, they’d be able to see if she was on the move.

“Sure!” she said brightly.  “You’re hired.  Does seven o’clock work for you?”

“Seven is heaven,” he said. There was an awkward pause.  “Umm…can we pretend I didn’t just say that?”

Buffy laughed.  “I’ll let it pass just this once, as long as you promise to bring pizza.”

“It’s a deal.” He said, a smile in his voice.  “And don’t worry about anything.  Dawn and I will have a great time.”

“I’m sure you will,” she replied, and gave him the address.

 

**********

 

“—and then Joshua said he would go to the dance with Heather but he also told Rachel that he would go with _her_ and so Heather and Rachel got into this really big fight in the middle of the cafeteria and now Josh is saying that he isn’t going to go to the dance with either of them and he’s going to ask someone else and so all the girls are just throwing themselves all over him and Janice says she knows his locker combination and she’s going to sneak him a picture of herself and kiss the back of it and I told her she was crazy and that he’s just a dumb jock and—“

“Bloody hell, Bit, breathe.  You’re going purple.”

Dawn looked up from painting her toenails, an apologetic expression on her face.  “Sorry.  I guess middle school isn’t the most interesting topic in the world.”

Something about her tone pricked at his insides.  “S’alright,” he said, getting up to turn off the television.  “Better than anything on the telly right now.”

She snorted.  “What, there’s no _Passions_ reruns or anything?  I still don’t know what you and Mom see in that show.”  There was a small pause as their eyes met.  She gulped.  “I mean…what Mom _saw_ in it.”

The ache inside him grew.  Poor chit.  She was far too young to be having to deal with everything she was going through.

“I keep doing that,” Dawn said softly.  “In the middle of the day, something’ll happen and I’ll think ‘I can’t wait to tell Mom about this’ and then half a second later I’ll remember that I can’t.”

“S’pose that’s natural,” he told her.  “Takes a while for things like that to really sink in.”  Crossing the room, he perched himself on the sarcophagus next to her.  “Know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but give it time.  You won’t forget, but remembering won’t hurt as much.”

Dawn gave him a watery smile.  “I miss talking to her,” she said.  “With Buffy, it’s all Glory and research and slaying…and I can’t say anything about that because she’s protecting me, but…” She trailed off, returning her attention to her toenails.

“…but Sunnydale Middle School stops for no apocalypse,” Spike finished for her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, not looking up.  “Anyway, it’s nice to talk about something that might not end with me being dead.”

Spike sat up a little straighter.  He clamped her shoulder with one hand, forcing her to look him in the eye.  “Hey, none of that now,” he said seriously.  “You’re not gonna die, Niblet.   _I’m_ not gonna let you...and Buffy sure as hell isn’t gonna allow it.  So don’t you go talking like that, you hear?"

She gave a small nod.  He relaxed his grip on her shoulder.  “Good.  Now what’s this ruddy dance you’re going on about?”

“The spring formal,” she said with a shrug.  “Last year it was just for eighth-graders, but this year seventh-graders get to come too, so everyone’s finding dates.”

“And you have a plan to snag this Joshua yourself?”

She tossed her hair.  “As if.  He’s just a big jerk.  You know I overheard him telling his dumb friends that he thought I was so tall that I must’ve been held back a grade?”

Spike narrowed his eyes.  Some pimply-faced teenaged git had given his Niblet the brush-off?  He felt his fangs lower inside his mouth at the thought.

“Wanker,” he said evenly.  “Want me to bite him for you?  Give me a hell of a migraine, but I think I could manage it.”

Dawn giggled.  “Thanks, but he’s not really worth a headache.”  She put the finishing touches of jet-black paint on her toenails and sat back to admire her work.  She flashed him an innocent smile.  “Will you do my fingernails?”

Spike coughed.  “Over my dust!  Slayer’s already gonna break my nose when she sees your feet.  Add fingernails to the mix and she’s like to knock my head clean off.”

“Please?” she pouted. “My fingernails and toenails should match."

He sighed.  Chit already knew how to turn her eyes into saucers.  Bitty Buffy indeed.   _Poncey git_ , he berated himself.  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how these Summers women kept finding his soft spots.

“Alright,” he told her, "but if Buffy asks, you nicked the polish from my crypt and got one of your mates to paint them.”

Dawn gave a triumphant grin and handed him the black polish.  He felt her eyes watching with interest as leaned over and began applying slow strokes with a practiced hand.  

“Why do you paint your own fingernails?” she asked.  “I don’t know any other guys who do that."

He shrugged.  “I like ‘em that way.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “It’s weird.”

Spike grinned.  “‘M a vampire, Bit,” he said.  “Normal’s not really my cuppa.”

“Buffy says you’re weird even for a vampire.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Does she now?” he asked casually.  “What other grand insights does the Slayer have ‘bout me?”

Dawn pursed her lips.  “Well, she thinks you must’ve been made wrong because your sire was all crazy and everything.”

“Oi!” He looked up, offended.  “Dru may be a bit batty, I’ll grant you, but she knows how to sire a fledge.  She even took me to a public garden and gave me a decent burial behind the rose bushes.”  He felt himself grow slightly misty-eyed.  “Always liked to do things proper, Dru did.”  

“Like I said…weird.”

He eyed her in exasperation.  “Well, how you think vamps are supposed to act?”

Dawn shrugged.  “I dunno.  Buffy says that they’re not supposed to do things like love other people.  She was really shocked after the thing with Glory, you know."

“Yeah, I got that impression too,” he said drily.  He finished Dawn’s right hand and moved on to her left one.  “So…what…she thinks if I’m doing something her Watcher says I can’t, then it must be because Dru had a screw loose when she made me?”

She hesitated.  “I guess.  I-I told her I didn’t think it was true.  I told her that if vampires couldn’t love, they wouldn’t be able to claim one another.”

Spike paused over her pinkie finger to look up again.  “How do _you_ know about claims?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

Dawn stuck her chin out proudly.  “Hello?  I’m the Slayer’s sister.  Of course I know about claims.”

He gave her an amused look, the corners of his mouth twitching.  She deflated a little bit.

“Okay, so I read it in one of Giles’ books when he wasn’t looking,” she admitted.  “But it said that vampires who claim one another spend the rest of their lives together, even if that means centuries.  And that must mean they love each other, right?”

Spike set the polish aside and cleaned the edges of her nails with his thumb.  “For the most part, yeah.  S’not strictly necessary for claiming, but most vamps who go that route choose it because they’re in love.  Those that aren’t…well, if they’ve made a mate claim, they usually end up coming to love each other anyway.  Claim kind of makes that outcome more natural.”  He blew lightly on her nails.  “We’ll give those about five minutes, and then we need to leave.  Sun’s down now.  Buffy’ll be expecting us.”

She nodded, holding up nails admiringly for a moment.  Then she turned to look at him again.  “Do you have a claim with Drusilla?” she asked casually.

Spike looked away, the ache returning to his chest in full force.  “No.”

Dawn tilted her head.  “I thought you guys were together for like eons or something.”

“A hundred and twenty years,” he said, still not meeting her eye.  “But we never had a claim.”

“Why not?”

He glared at her.  “Not your business, is why.”

Dawn returned his scowl with a determined huff of her own.  She crossed her arms, careful to avoid smudging her fingernails.

Spike heaved a sigh.  “We tried, alright?  Or at least I did, and she humored me.  But it never took.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we did the bloody ceremony and it didn’t work,” he said gruffly.  He paused.  “Prob'ly on account of Dru being so barmy.”

Dawn frowned.  “But you just said she was sane enough to sire you correctly.  Why wouldn’t she be able to do the claim?”

“S’a different beast, Platelet,” he said, shaking his head.  “Any vamp with a bit of self-control can sire a fledge.  A claim is a lot harder.  Both parties have got to be willing.  Gotta understand what they’re getting themselves into.  Dru…she’s sharp enough to perform a ceremony.  But binding herself to another vamp permanently?  S’pect she doesn’t have the presence of mind for something like that.”  He looked down at his knees.  “Not sure she’d be willing even if she did.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

Spike stared absently at the crypt.  “Tried the other kind as well,” he said softly, “when the mate claim didn’t work.  Thought maybe it would be easier, since I’d be the one bearing the bulk of it.  But that one didn’t work either.”

Dawn furrowed her brow.  “There’s another type of claim?  Giles’ book only mentioned vampires becoming mates.”

“Yeah, well, the other type’s pretty rare,” he said with a shrug.  “Doubt the Wanker’s Council has much reason to study it.”  He stood up and tossed her sandals onto the sarcophagus.  “We’d best be going soon.  Get your shoes back on.”

“Okay,” she said, slipping her toes into them carefully and adjusting the straps.  “But what’s the other claim about?”

“S’nothing,” he said, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject.  Thinking about his failures with Dru when he was trying so hard to win some leeway with Buffy wasn’t helping his mood much.  “Don’t think the Slayer’ll care for me teaching her kid sister the ins and outs of being a vamp.  And I already have black nails to answer for today.”

“I promise I won’t say anything!” she said.  “And I’m taking credit for the nails.”  He hesitated and she gave him an angelic look.  “Pretty please?”

Spike rolled his eyes.  “It’s called a vassal claim, okay?  Now let’s go.”

Dawn finished strapping on her sandals and grabbed her book bag.  “What’s the difference between a vassal claim and a mate claim?” she asked as they left the crypt.

He groaned to himself.  The girl just wasn’t going to let up.

“A mate claim makes mates,” he said sarcastically.  “A vassal claim makes vassals.”

She crossed her arms again.  “And what does that mean, exactly?  Mate claims are like marriage and vassal claims are like slavery?”

“No,” he said shortly.  He sighed.  “I mean, yes.  Mate claims are like marriages, more or less.  But vassals aren’t slaves.”

“But they have to obey, right?  I mean, vassals in history were people who had to obey their lords.  Or at least that’s what Ms. Caldwell said last year in Western Civ.  How is that not slavery?”

“Slaves don’t have a choice,” he said.  “Mate or vassal, claims are all about choice.  Like I said, both parties have got to be willing.  Vassals have to choose to serve their liege, same as mates have to choose to be bonded permanently.”

He shoved at the gate that led out of Restfield and held it open for her.  Dawn walked through, her forehead crinkling in confusion.  “So…they become minions or something?”

“Not the same thing,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Minions are weak.  They obey because they’re made to, because their masters would punish them if they didn’t. Vassals aren’t supposed to need threats.”

“Oh."

They walked in silence for a few minutes.  Dawn kept her eyes on the ground in front of her.  Spike could practically feel the questions whirling around inside her skull.

“I don’t get it,” she said finally.  “If vassals are so much better than minions, why are they so rare?  It seems to me like everyone would want them.”

“I told you,” he said.  “It’s about choice.  And choosing to be a vassal…choosing to put yourself in some other bloke’s power…that requires a lot of trust.  Vamps aren’t exactly big on trusting one another.  Evil, yeah?”

“But surely there are all sorts of ways to make someone choose something like that!”

Spike raised an eyebrow.  “Got a hankering to have some poor vamp at your beck and call there, Niblet?” 

She blushed, and he gave her an affectionate grin.  “Vampires have tried all sorts of things to force each other into vassal claims,” he explained.  “Old Batface used to tinker with spells and hypnosis.  Angel used to try to beat Dru and me into accepting it.  Nothing works.  The choice has to be a free one.”

Dawn frowned.  “But what sort of vampire would agree to something like that?”

He was quiet for a moment before answering.  “A weird one."

She shot him a look but didn’t reply.  They walked in silence for several more blocks.  Just before the rounded the corner onto Revello Drive, however, she spoke again.  “Angel tried to force you to become his vassal?”

Spike hesitated. “Got a long and ugly history together,” he said cautiously.  "Most of it doesn’t need recounting.”

“But he tried?”

“Couple times,” he said.  “He wanted an obedient little killer back when I was a fledge, and squeaky clean little reformed criminal after that sodding curse of his.  But like I said, it never worked.”

Dawn stopped walking.  She looked up at him in shock.  “Angel tried to force it on you _after his soul_?”

He swore under his breath.  Dawn was so easy to talk to, it was easy to forget she was the Slayer’s sister.  And of course Buffy wouldn’t like him airing all her ex’s dirty laundry to the girl.  Trouble was, Spike wasn’t always sure what counted as “dirty laundry” with the Scoobies.  Hero types seemed to operate on their own set of rules.

“S’no big deal,” he said with a casual shrug, although he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out if his voice.  “Reckon he thought it would keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“But…but you can’t just bully someone into good behavior!”

His lips twisted sardonically.  “Can’t you?”

“Well…” She looked troubled.  “…I suppose you _can_.  But you shouldn’t.  It’s wrong.”

Spike felt a surge of warmth.  Sweet little bird, she was.  “Thanks for the defense, Bit,” he said, putting a hand on her arm.  “But we should prob’ly hurry along.  Looks like your sis has already got the lights on.”

She nodded reluctantly.  But they had only made it a few steps further when Spike’s nostrils flared.  “What’s _he_ doing here?” he asked, as they watched a car pull up in front of the house.  A few seconds later, a brown-haired man got out, balancing a box of pizza in one hand.

“Oh,” Dawn said glumly.  “Apparently Buffy’s got Ben babysitting while you guys patrol tonight.  Tara told me after school.”

“That doctor from the party?” Spike was aghast.  “What’s he supposed to do if Glory shows up?  Take her temperature?”

“That’s what I said!” Dawn complained with a toss of her hair.  “I mean, unless she’s hiring King Kong to come protect me, there’s not much use in a babysitter.  I wish she’d let me stay home alone.”

“Why can’t you stay with the witches?” he asked.  Red at least had a decent chance of protecting her.

Dawn sighed.  “They have a final tonight. And anyway, I think it’s less about me and more about Buffy.”

He looked down at her.  “What do you mean?”

But before she could answer, the front door opened and Buffy stepped out.  Spike blinked.  The Slayer was dressed to kill, and it was clear that demons weren’t on her mind.  The two of them watched as she greeted Ben cheerfully, laughing and flirting casually.  For the second time that night, Spike fought the urge to sink his teeth deep into a human’s neck.  After a few moments, Buffy gestured Ben toward the house and they disappeared inside.

“Do I have to go?” Dawn asked.  “This is going to be such a lame night.  You know all he’s gonna want to talk about is Buffy.”

“Wish I could get you out of it, Bit,” he said.  “But you best go before she starts to wonder.”  He paused, then continued bitterly.  “Can’t walk you in myself either.  Still don’t have an invite.”

Dawn’s face squeezed tight.  “Sorry about that,” she said.  “I’d give you one, but…”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  “Best not.  It’s alright.”  It really wasn’t, though.  It galled him the way Ben had been welcomed into the house without a thought.  Stupid git prob’ly didn’t even realize what an honor that was.

“Okay,” Dawn said with a sigh.  “Wish me luck.”

He clapped her lightly on the shoulder.  “Let your sister know I’m out here?”

She nodded and headed for the house.  Just as she reached the porch, however, Spike called after her.  “Hey, Niblet?”  

Dawn turned back and looked at him quizzically.  “Yes?”

“Try playing cards with him,” he suggested.  At her confused expression, he added, “You remember that trick I taught you last week?”

Her eyebrows shot up.  “You mean the one where you cheat?”

“That’s the one.”  He took a step forward.  “Clean him out for me, would you?”

Dawn broke into an evil grin and stepped into the house.


	7. Self-Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from "The Gift."

 

The night was still and quiet, with barely a cricket chirping.  A full moon shone down on the Crawford mansion, throwing eerie shadows across the lawn.  Each window was a gaping black abyss, with no light or signs of activity coming from inside.  From the front, the entire place looked just as dead and desolate as it had when its solitary occupant had been a brooding vampire.

The bushes, however, were humming furiously.

“All I’m saying is if you’re going to be babysitting her every single day,” Buffy whispered in frustration, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try to turn her into some sort of...goth chick wannabe!”

Spike rolled his eyes.  “S’just nail polish, Slayer.  Comes off as easily as it goes on.”

Buffy glared at him.  “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

She hesitated.  “The point is…she’s been through a lot lately.  I don’t want her going all morbid with the black and the hanging out in crypts and everything.”

“You want her to just bottle it all up and pretend everything’s all sunshine and daisies?” Spike raised a scarred eyebrow.  “Seems like that’d just make everything worse.  Girl needs to grieve.”

Buffy sighed.  “I know she does.  But I don’t want her to…to...”  

“To what?” Spike narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t want her to start looking like yours truly?”

“That’s not it,” she said weakly.

But truthfully, it sort of was.  It made Buffy uncomfortable, the way Dawn seemed to hero-worship Spike.  Unlike Giles, she didn’t think he was plotting to hand her sister over to Glory.  But Spike was still evil.  He stole and drank and smoked.  And while Buffy didn’t understand every curse word that came out of his mouth, she could tell from the way the way Giles would wince around him that some of them must be pretty foul.  There was no telling what sort bad language and habits Dawn might pick up if she continued to hang around him.

Unfortunately, Buffy couldn’t say things like that anymore.  Not aloud, at any rate.  Because as it turned out, Spike was also stupidly brave and bullheadedly loyal for a vampire. And while admitting that fact made her head spin and her stomach churn, the fair part of her kept insisting that he had earned his right to be around Dawn.

Not to mention, she really did need his help if she wanted any hope of stopping Glory.

“I’m just worried about her,” she concluded lamely.

Spike’s scowl softened a bit.  

“You and me both, pet.”  He turned his attention back to the mansion.  “What do you think?” he asked, jerking his head toward the house.

“I dunno,” she said doubtfully.  “It looks pretty abandoned to me.  We’ve been here twenty minutes and I still haven’t seen anything moving.”

“It might be nothing,” he conceded, a defensive note in his voice.  “Reckon we might try getting a little closer, though.  Peek in the side window, see if anything’s out of place.”

Buffy nodded.  Crouching low the ground, she darted across the lawn.  She could feel him following close behind.  When they reached the right side of the house, she darted into the overgrown shrubs and peered cautiously through the first window.  A few seconds later, Spike joined her.

But the inside seemed just as dark and quiet as the outside.

“I still don’t see anything,” she whispered, a prickle of suspicion forming in her stomach.  “Spike, if this is just another stupid false alarm like Valentine’s Day, I swear I’m gonna—“

“What do you take me for, Slayer?” he growled.  “Wouldn’t try that again, not with Niblet in danger.  Told you it might just be vamps talking’ in their cups.”

Buffy sighed.  “Well, whatever it is, there’s no one here.  We should go.” She turned to leave.

“Hold on a tic,” he said, catching her arm.  “Since when did the drawing room have mirrors?”

“Wh-what?” Buffy turned back to the window and looked again.  Sure enough, there was the glint of several oversized mirrors hanging on the walls.  A few more were propped against the fireplace.

“Can’t tell me Angel added those,” Spike said.  “Bloody useless if you don’t have a reflection.”

Buffy hesitated, then reached for the flashlight she had tucked into the back of her jeans and clicked it on.  As the circle of light swept the room, she noticed several other changes that had escaped her attention. A half-hearted attempt had been made to cover the dreary walls with long red satin curtains.  The cold stone floor in front of the fireplace had been covered with a plush rug in a matching shade.  Whereas Angel had only had a few pieces of furniture in the entire lower level, someone had added some plump purple chairs and a gilded love seat with leopard-print cushions.  Strewn about the floor were half-empty shoeboxes and stilettos in every shape and color.

“She was here,” Buffy said unnecessarily.

“Yeah,” Spike responded drily.  “Seems so.  Looks like she left in a hurry, too.  Must’ve just missed her.”  He picked up a large rock from the flower bed and heaved it at the window.  

Buffy jumped back, slightly startled.  “Was that really necessary?” she asked.

“No,” he said, reaching through the hole to open the window from the inside.  “I just don’t like the place.”  He swept aside the shattered glass and gestured toward Buffy.  “Ladies first.”

She rolled her eyes and climbed through the window.  “So suddenly now you’re polite?”

“Comes out now and again,” he said with a shrug, crawling inside after her.  “Can’t seem to help it.  'Old habits die hard' and all that rubbish."

“If you say so,” she said, as casually as possible.  Ever since the BuffyBot, she had been trying hard not to think about his inner Victorian or notice the little ways in which it slipped out.  “Why do you think Glory left so suddenly?”

“Dunno.  Maybe she didn’t like the place either.”

“Or maybe she knew we were coming,” Buffy said, eyeing him suspiciously again.  “You didn’t say anything to anyone else, did you?”

Spike looked offended.  “Know how to keep my mouth shut when it’s important, Slayer.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”  Buffy looked around.  “If she’s really gone, this is just another dead end.”

“Maybe not.” He lifted a lacy dressing gown from the love seat with a raised eyebrow.  "Looks like they didn’t take time to pack.  Might be some clues lying around here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. "Okay, we’ll look around.  But let’s make it quick.  I’ll take the upstairs.”

Spike nodded, and they split up.

Buffy wandered through the upstairs bedrooms reluctantly.  It occurred to her that for all the time she had spent here with Angel, she had really only explored a small area of the house.  After he had come back from hell, Angel had mostly confined himself to the lower level.  Now as she went from room to room, she understood why.  Glory might have taken over the place, but the changes she had made were only superficial.  There wasn’t enough satin in Sunnydale to cover the bloodstains on the walls.  Chains were still draped across two beds, clearly intended to secure midday snacks.  As she poked through the closets and dressers, Buffy also found long dresses, too tasteful to belong to Glory.  And a chest in the last bedroom contained dozens of porcelain dolls.  She shuddered.

The upstairs must have been where Angel had spent most of his time with Drusilla.

She heard clanging downstairs, followed by a string of British curse words.  Retreating to the ground floor, she found Spike standing dead-still in the doorway to the kitchen, his back to her.

“Did you find something useful?” she asked.

“No,” he said darkly.  “Just some old memories.”

She came up beside him and peered into the empty room.  There was a wheelchair lying on its side on the white tile.

“Oh."

“Didn’t think it’d still be here,” he said.

Buffy shrugged.  “There’s still a lot of her stuff upstairs as well.  You must not have taken much when you left.”

“Wasn’t in much of a mood to hang around and pack.”

“I noticed,” she said drily.  “You didn’t even stick through the whole fight.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow.  “Did my part, didn’t I?  Took the wanker by surprise.  Got Dru out of the way.  Were you expecting more?”

“I guess not,” Buffy sighed.  “You are what you are.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” she hesitated “…I mean vampires always look out for themselves.  Helping me was the only way to stop the world-endage. You were just being practical.”

Spike took a step closer.  “It wasn’t _just_ about saving dog racing and Manchester United.  I did it for Dru too.”

“I know,” she said lightly.  "You wanted to take her away from Angel.  You wanted to keep her.”

“I wanted to love her!” he snapped.  He looked away.  “And yeah, I didn’t want her with Angel.  He wasn’t good for her.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say to that.  

“Look, Slayer,” he said after a moment of silence.  “‘M not a hero.  Never pretended to be.  Not gonna throw my unlife away to save a bunch of pricks I don’t even know.  I’m not _you_.”  He paused.  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t go the distance when it’s someone…”  His voice trailed off.

She bit her lip, remembering his cuts and bruises from just a few weeks ago.  “When it’s someone you love,” she finished softly.

He nodded.

Buffy considered him for a moment.  “It may come to a fight,” she said quietly.  “This thing with Glory, I mean.  And if we’re fighting together, I’ve got to know…”

“It’s Niblet’s life,” he said, understanding her unspoken question.  “And yours.  I’ll be there.”

“There’s a good chance we won’t make it,” she warned.  “Glory’s like no one I’ve ever fought before.”

His lips turned into a small smile.  “I always knew I’d go down fighting.”

Buffy hesitated again.  “I’m counting on you to protect her,” she whispered.

The words hung in the air.  It wasn’t until after they had left her mouth that she realized their significance.  But Spike seemed to understand at once.  He tilted his head, and for a moment seemed to search her face for something.  Then his eyes widened with awe and he stood up straighter, meeting her gaze squarely.

“Till the end of the world,” he promised.

For some strange reason, Buffy suddenly felt as if a massive weight had been removed from her chest.  Even if she didn’t make it, Dawn wouldn’t be without a defender.  Spike was frustrating as hell, but she knew she could trust him to keep his word.

Their conversation was interrupted by an ominous sound coming from the front of the house.

“Was that the door?” she asked.

“‘Fraid so,” Spike said.

Buffy’s panic returned in full force.  If Glory had come back unexpectedly, they were in deep trouble.  Neither of them was prepared to face her without back-up.

It was almost a relief when a few seconds later the tingles on the back of her neck told her the intruders were vampires, not a hellgod and her minions.

“I told you Roxy,” a male voice said excitedly, "the bitch has abandoned this place!  It’s free for the taking.”

“Glad we got here before anyone else found out,” a female voice agreed.

Buffy and Spike exchanged glances.   _These must be the vamps Spike was eavesdropping on_ , Buffy thought.  

Wordlessly, she motioned to him.  He nodded, an anticipatory smirk already in place.  They crept through the hall toward the front of the house.  When they reached the corner, Buffy peered cautiously into the great room.  

There was a whole nest of them, five in all.  A beefy vamp covered in tattoos had his arm draped around a redheaded female.  Just behind them was another female, petite with streaks of blue through her otherwise jet-black hair.  From the haughty expression on her face, Buffy suspected she was the matriarch.  Trailing further behind was a skinny black vamp with glasses and dreadlocks.  He was holding the hand of a small, mousy female in a floral blouse.

None of them had seen Buffy yet.

“Ooooh, now this is a sweet pad,” the redhead gushed enthusiastically.  “Look at all this space!  I bet there are dozens of rooms upstairs.”

“We’ll see,” the petite one sniffed.  She eyed the beefy`male suspiciously.  “You sure the bitch isn’t coming back?  It’s on your head if she is.”

“Nah,” he shook his head.  “I heard one of those weird little brown-robe things saying something about a key.  Think she’s found herself some other place."

Buffy’s heart leaped into her throat.  Did that mean that Glory was on to the fact that Spike’s ring wasn’t the Key?  Had she found out about Dawn? Or maybe it just meant that she was going to try to use the ring for whatever she wanted the Key for…  

Buffy crept a little closer, trying to hear better.

“Can’t imagine why she would want to leave,” the redhead said.  “A place like this is hard to come by.  What do you think, Roxy?”

“It’ll do,” the petite vamp said shortly.  “As long as we don’t draw attention.  The Slayer has a history with the place.”

“She won’t find us here, will she?” the mousy female asked.

“Don’t worry, baby,” her companion said, giving her arm a squeeze.  “It’s all bad history.  She doesn’t come here anymore.  We’re safe as houses.”

“Which, if you know anything about this one, aren't really all that safe,” Buffy said, stepping forward.  Five heads snapped in her direction.  The mousy female gave a small cry.  The matriarch—Roxy, apparently—took a step forward.

“Slayer!” she hissed.

“Vampire,” Buffy responded coolly.

They both pounced.

It was a nice fight, Buffy decided.  Whatever worries she might have when the dust settled, in the heat of battle everything was right and good in the world.  The troubles around her faded away and all that mattered was the next move.  Swing, punch, kick, dodge, jump.  Spike was right.  This _was_ a dance.  And she was good at it.  No…she was _great_.  With a quick movement, Buffy threw her stake at Roxy.  The haughty vamp’s eyes widened slightly.  Buffy reached out quickly to recover her stake before it dusted as well.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Spike was enjoying himself as well, battling Redhead and Dreadlocks simultaneously.  He laughed as Redhead ran at him wildly, leaping out of the way at the last minute.  Within seconds, she was dust as well.  Spike turned his attention to Dreadlocks.  Buffy turned her own focus to the beefy vamp, who was grinning stupidly at her from halfway up the staircase.

“Think you can take me Slayer?” he sneered.  “I benched three hundred even before I was turned!”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Well, you know what they say,” she said sweetly as he lunged at her.  She let her fall backward, using her legs to toss him aside. “The bigger they are…” she jumped up before he could roll away, plunging her stake deep into his chest “…the harder they fall.”

Satisfied, Buffy stood up and looked around.  Spike was still fighting Dreadlocks.  Mousy Girl was inching slowly away from the fight.  As soon as she realized she had been noticed, she made a break for the front door.  Buffy caught her before she could escape.

“Theo!” she screamed.  Dreadlocks looked away from his fight.  His eyes widened.

“Anna!”

Then he dusted, Spike’s stake still caught in his chest.

Buffy froze.

The grave in Restfield.  Anna Sidwell, just sixteen.

Time seemed to stand still as Buffy took in the girl's appearance. Thin brown hair.  Small face.  Hazel eyes.  Skinny.  Floral blouse and pleated skirt.  She’d definitely been a teenager when she was turned.  

There were probably dozens of Annas in Sunnydale, of course, but…it _could_ be her.

“Something wrong, Slayer?” Spike called. 

Anna trembled beneath her grip.  She seemed to be just as dazed as Buffy.  But at Spike’s voice, it seemed to dawn on her that Buffy wasn’t striking.  She began to struggle.  Buffy loosened her grip and the girl darted up, vamping out defensively.

“What are you waiting for?” Spike shouted, a worried note in his voice.  “Dust her!”

But Buffy couldn’t.  She staggered backward as Anna clawed at her.  Her foot slipped and suddenly the skinny girl was on top of her.

“Buffy!"

She stared up into desperate yellow eyes.  There was no doubting that her assailant was terrified.  Buffy felt her stomach lurch as she realized that if she could not get ahold of herself, this might actually be the end.

Suddenly, Anna gasped.  For a fraction of a second, her amber eyes changed back to hazel.  Then she crumbled.

Buffy coughed on the dust, blinking hard in confusion.  Spike was standing over her, scowling as he offered a hand.  

“What the bloody hell was that all about, Slayer?” he growled.  “You trying to get yourself killed?”

“She…she was scared,” Buffy whispered.

“Of course she was scared!” he snapped.  “As she bloody well should be!  You’re the sodding Slayer…or at least you’re supposed to be.  She’d be a damn fool to take that lightly.”

Buffy shook her head.  “She was just desperate,” she said, stomach churning.  “It was self-defense.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Desperate folks are the most dangerous,” he said.  “Self-defense or not, she still would’ve killed you.”  He paused.  “And what is this…you giving passes to vamps now, Slayer?”

“N-no.”  Buffy looked away.

“Then don’t go freezing up on in the middle of a fight!  You’re too good a Slayer for something like that.”

She glanced back at him.  Spike’s eyes were dark and angry, but she could still see the whites showing.  His face was pinched and drawn.  It occurred to her that Anna had not been the only one who was terrified.

Buffy stood up, trying to pull herself together.  She looked around her.  “This is a dead end after all.” she said shakily.  “Somehow, Glory must have found out we were coming.”  She swallowed, thinking of her sister sitting at home with no one but Ben to watch her.   _Stay calm, Buffy.  It doesn’t mean she knows the truth._   “I need to get back.  I’ve left Dawn alone for too long.”

Spike’s lips tightened.  Buffy suspected the same thought had occurred to him.  “There’s a payphone at the end of the block,” he said.  “Should check on her.  Tell her we’re coming.”

Buffy nodded.  They left, slamming the door behind them.  

The noise reverberated across the empty hall, echoing against the stone walls and hollow spaces.  Then all was silent once more.  The moon shone through the windows, cold and pale and somehow making the entire place seem even darker and more desolate.  Apart from the broken glass, there was no sign of the intruders who had just left.  No indication of the fight that had just taken place.  No trace of the five creatures who had perished at the hands of the girl chosen to slay them.  A small gecko poked its head through the broken window, the only living thing in a cavernous tomb.  It scampered down the wall and across the room, blithely unaware that it was scattering dust that had once been a girl named Anna.

 

***********

 

“Summers residence,” Dawn said into the receiver, glad for an excuse to leave her card game.  Ben was proving to be a terrible player.  Dawn had gotten bored with winning an hour ago and she hadn’t even needed to cheat.  

“Dawn!”  Buffy’s voice was urgent.

“Hey, Buffy.  What’s up?”

“Is-is everything okay there?”

“Umm…yeah,” she answered, slightly confused.  She glanced across the dining room at Ben, who was shuffling the cards.  “Why?”

“Dawnie, listen to me.  We found something.  It may be nothing, but…” Buffy voice dropped lower.  “But you need to be careful.  We think Glory might be on the move tonight.”

“What?” Dawn’s voice came out strangled.  She lowered it as she saw Ben look up from the cards.  “Y-you think she knows?”

“She might,” Buffy admitted.  “Or she might not.  We don’t know.  But you need to be alert, just in case.  Turn off all the lights.  Make it look like no one’s home.”

Dawn looked over at Ben again.  He was standing up now, leaning against the side window.  “What do you want me to tell Ben?” she whispered.  “He’s gonna wonder what’s going on.”

“Tell him whatever you have to,” Buffy said.  “We’re on our way home now, but I’d feel better if no one know could tell you were in the house.”

Dawn gulped, suddenly realizing how vulnerable she was.  “What do I do if she shows up?”

“Hide,” Buffy said seriously.  “Don’t try to fight.  Don’t try to run unless she finds you.”

“O-okay,” Dawn said weakly.  “I’ll do it.  Just get here as quickly as you can.”

“I’ll be there soon, I promise,” Buffy said.  She hesitated.  “And Dawnie?  I love you.”

Dawn swallowed, trying not to think of how close to “goodbye” that sounded.  “I love you too,” she said reluctantly, and hung up the receiver.

“Something wrong?”

She jumped, not realizing that Ben had come up behind her. 

“That was Buffy,” she said, her mind racing.  “She said…she said…my Aunt Arlene was on her way.  She’s…sort of dangerous.  And she’s upset…because she wants custody of me.”

“Oh my,” Ben said uncomfortably.

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Dawn said, with reassurance she didn’t feel.  “Buffy’s on her way home right now.  She just said we need to turn off the lights so Arlene thinks we’re not home.”

“Buffy’s coming back?” His tone had a strange edge to it.  She saw his gaze drift over to the clock on the back wall.  “Already?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, slightly thrown by his reaction.  “But it’ll take her twenty minutes, so we need to shut off all the lights.”

Still, he made no move.  She tried to push past him, reaching for a lamp.  He blocked her.

“Ben?” Dawn asked uncertainly.  “What’s going on?”

“It’ll be too late,” he said quietly.

Dawn’s blood went cold.  “What do you mean?”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he said, grabbing her arm.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve got no choice.  It’s you or me.”

“W-what…?”

“Glory,” he said.  “She’s too powerful to fight.  But if I do this…”

In an instant, Dawn understood.

“You’re kidnapping me,” she whispered, jerking her arm away from him and taking a step backward, towards the kitchen.  The back door was her nearest option.  “You’re going to take me to her.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.  “I wish there was another way.”

“There _is_ another way!” she protested, her voice strangled. “W-we can help you.  Whatever Glory’s got on you, we can help.  B-Buffy’s good at that.  And Willow’s a witch.  And so is Tara.  And…well he’s not here right now…but Giles knows lots and lots of stuff.  I’m sure there’s something they can do…”  Her voice trailed off as she took another step backward.  She was standing in the back hall.  A few more steps would put her in the kitchen.  She could make a dart for the back door as soon as she reached it.

Ben shook his head.  “You don’t understand.  There is no help.  Not for the two of us.” He paused.  “We’re the same, you and I.”

“We are _not_ the same!”  She took another step back.

“We are,” he said quietly.  “You only exist to house the Key.  I only exist to keep her imprisoned.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.  “The hospital,” she said.  “You were there…you were there just before she showed up and then…”  She searched her brain, trying to remember.  When had Ben left?  How long had it been before Glory showed up?  The memories were fuzzy, but…

_“I've got a sister too.  They can be a real pain sometimes.  I tell you, there’ve been a lot of nights I wish she didn’t exist either."_

She took another step backward.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Ben continued.  “Having to deal with her day in and day out.  Blacking out for long periods, waking up in a dress, having her little minions follow me around all the time.  I mean, I had a job.  I have a life.  And Glory?  She never once thinks about me in all this.  She just goes around like a wrecking ball, and I’m the one who has to clean up the mess.  Get rid of the evidence, summon space demons--”

Dawn froze.  She hadn’t understood everything in his rant, but the last comment hit her like a brick wall. “ _You_ were the one behind the Queller demon?” she sputtered.  “That thing nearly killed my mom!”

Ben looked at her curiously.  “Your mom died anyway, didn’t she?  So what does it even matter?”

“What does it _matter_? she asked incredulously.  The fear that had been churning in her stomach turned to rage.  She stood up straight and glared at him.  “It matters a lot, you twisted jerk!  At least Mom died peacefully, no thanks to you.  She was on the sofa, with flowers from her date sitting next to the door.  That’s a lot different than being scared out of your mind because some gigantic cockroach on the ceiling is trying to suffocate you with its slime!”  She took another step, but this time it was towards him.  “You tried to _murder_  her!”

He swallowed, not quite meeting her eye.  “It wasn’t personal,” he said.  “I just couldn’t afford to have people start asking questions about the mental patients.”

“So you tried to kill them?"

“I had to,” he said defensively.  “It was me or them.”

“And you chose _you,”_  she said coldly.

“Everyone chooses themselves.  Heroes are just fairy tale bullshit."

“That’s not true,” Dawn said, jutting out her chin.  She stared him straight in the eye.  “Buffy is a hero.  And I know a vampire who didn’t choose himself.  You’re just a coward!  But that doesn’t mean everyone else is too!”

Ben narrowed his eyes.  “And I suppose you’re so brave?” 

He took another step toward her.  Icy terror filled her stomach once more as she realized she had lost the chance to run.  But she glared at him, unwilling to prove him right by breaking down.  

“I’ll scream,” she hissed, as he grabbed her arm again.  “The neighbors will hear.”

His eyes darkened.  “Go ahead,” he said, almost sadly.  “It won’t help.”

And then his face changed.

 

********** 

 

In 1633 Revello Drive, the Andersons were just sitting down to dinner.  Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting shriek from across the street, followed by a flash of bright light.

“What was _that_?” five-year-old Jaimie asked, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

His older sister Jordan looked over her shoulder.  “It came from outside!” 

She hopped out of her chair, but before she could make it to the window, Mrs. Anderson grabbed her shoulder.  “Sit back down, young lady,” she snapped.

“But—“

“I said, sit!”

“Mind your mother,” Mr Anderson said.  He looked at his wife nervously.

Mrs. Anderson stood up and walked over to the window.  Peering across the street, she saw that the door to 1633 was ajar.  The scream must have come from there.  It didn’t surprise her very much.  Weird things happened at that house.  She saw the lights on in several other houses.  In 1630, Mrs. Nakamura was holding her infant daughter close to her breast, her eyes wide and frightened.  Mrs. Anderson saw her reach for the phone on the wall, but her husband stopped her, shaking his head.  Pulling her away from the window, he yanked the curtain across it.  In 1634, old Mrs. Roberts was staring out from her bay window impassively.  After a minute, she too turned away, closing her curtain.

Mrs. Anderson understood.  You didn’t respond to screams in the night.  It was the unspoken rule of Sunnydale.  Taking a deep breath, stepped back and drew the curtains across her own window.  She returned to her seat.

“What was it Mommy?” Jordan asked.

“Just a cat,” Mrs. Anderson said, exchanging a significant look with her husband.

Jordan frowned.  “But what about the light?”

“It was nothing,” she said shortly.  “Eat your spaghetti.”

They finished their dinner in silence.


	8. Arbitrary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update! RL got a little busy. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long to post.

On the other side of Sunnydale, Spike watched as Buffy set down the receiver.  She walked slowly towards him, her posture a confused compromise between tension and relief.

“The Bit alright?” he asked as soon as she got close enough.

“She was still there,” Buffy answered.  “I put her on alert.  She and Ben are going to turn off all the lights and pretend no one’s home.”

“Good thinking,” he nodded.  “Prob’ly should still hurry on back, though.  Dr. Dreamy’s not gonna be much use if the hellbitch shows up.”

Buffy shot him a look, but didn’t protest.  They set out in silence, moving across town at a brisk pace.  As they walked, Spike stole a glance at her.  The raw fear that had been rolling off Buffy in waves since they left the mansion had eased slightly after the phone call, but her face was still pinched and drawn.  He could still hear her elevated heartbeat and see the tension in her movements.

Spike didn’t blame her.  Dawn was on the other side of town, waiting like a sitting duck with only an ordinary human to protect her.  If Glory was on to them, they wouldn’t stand a chance.  Their only option would be to hightail it as far away from the Hellmouth as they could get.  He swallowed, wishing he still had his old DeSoto.  Maybe he could steal one of those sporty things they sold on the north side of town and drive his girls across the border.  Spike was willing to bet he could make it to Mexico before sunrise if they left quickly enough.

He glanced over at Buffy again.  Her eyes were fixed on the pavement in front of her.  She appeared deep in thought, probably worrying about her sister.  Or perhaps she was thinking about whatever had come over her back at the mansion.

Spike's stomach did a flip.  He’d almost lost her again tonight.  And the worst part was he still had no idea why.  The fight had been going well, all things considered.  Buffy had seemed to be enjoying herself, same as she always did when battling demons.  And then suddenly everything had gone all to hell.  She’d stopped fighting and nearly let some run-of-the-mill fledgling take her out.  He didn’t get it.  It wasn’t like the Slayer to need rescuing.

A scream split the night, interrupting his thoughts.  He felt Buffy freeze beside him.

“It’s not Dawn,” he said quickly.  “Too deep for that.  Grown woman, maybe.” He nodded in the direction of a nearby alley.  “Came from down there.  Prob’ly just a mugging.  We should keep going.”

But Buffy didn’t move. She was still staring at the alley.  Spike’s stomach lurched as he realized what she was thinking.

“No, Buffy, you can’t,” he protested.  “Not right now.  Dawn’s in danger.”

“So is _she_ ,” Buffy whispered, her eyes fixed on the direction the scream had come from.

“It’s not our problem,” Spike argued.  He grabbed her arm.  “We have Niblet to worry about.”

She jerked her arm away, glaring at him.  “I’m the Slayer.  It’s _always_ my problem.”

He swore in exasperation.  “Buffy, we don’t have time!”

“It won’t take long,” she said, taking off towards the alley.  “I think they’re just humans.”

Spike ran after her, cursing with every step. Sodding White Hat had her priorities all out of kilter.  Did she think she could rescue everyone?

He followed her to the edge of the alley, but held back as she ran toward the struggling figures.  It wouldn’t do to get involved in a human fight with Buffy present.  Spike heard fists hitting flesh.  The woman continued to scream, but now her cries were mixed with a man’s deeper yelp.  Despite his worry, Spike couldn’t help but smirk.  Wanker probably hadn’t expected to be taken down by such a petite girl.  

He took a step into the alley, trying to get a better view.  A woman in her mid-forties was limping towards the street at the far side of the alley, clutching one shoulder as she made her escape.  Buffy had her back to him, and was standing over a larger figure on the ground.  She hissed something low and threatening at the man.  Spike couldn’t see his face, but watched in amusement as the he staggered up to his feet, a protective hand covering his crotch.  The Slayer stepped aside and the man darted past her, looking back over his shoulder as he ran straight into Spike.

For a moment, all Spike noticed was the force of the impact.  But then a familiar scent struck his sensitive nose, an offensive mixture of sweat and heavy cologne.  He straightened, shoving the man away from him to get a good look at the assailant.  It was a tall man in a cheap suit and flashy jewelry.  He had a two-day shave and his hair was slicked and shiny with hair gel. 

In an instant, Spike recognized him.  The Slayer and her sister were momentarily forgotten.  White-hot rage flashed through his body, mixing with ugly memories.

_As usual, it was his mouth that had started the trouble.  If he’d just collected his winnings and walked out quietly, he probably could’ve made it back to his crypt without a problem.  But it had been a well-played hand and a sweet victory.  Spike hadn’t been able to resist crowing at the defeated humans._

_That had been a mistake._

_They caught up with him halfway across town, cornering him between the drugstore and the dry cleaner’s.  Since the chip, his policy when dealing with human threats had been one of avoidance.  But they’d fanned out into a semi-circle, trapping him._

_Eyeing them cautiously, he gave a nervous laugh.  “No need to get your knickers in a twist, fellas.  Game happens every Thursday.  You’ll get another chance next week.”_

_“Don’t think so, Spike,” the ringleader smirked.  His name was Frank Rosini, but everyone called him Frankie.  Rumor had it he'd got his start running heroin for his bosses in LA.  Now he was a mercenary, willing to do the dirty work of whatever demon happened to be ruling Sunnydale.  Spike had used the oily man’s services himself a few times, back in the day._

_Frankie took a step forward.  “We’re not interested in waiting, are we boys?”  His companions snickered.  “We want our money back now.”_

_“Now see here,” Spike said shakily.  “I won the game, fair and square.”  He licked his lips nervously.  “But I tell you what…we can have a rematch tonight if you like.  We’ll just go back to Willy’s and play another couple hands.”_

_Frankie took another step towards him.  “It wasn’t a fair game,” he said.  “You cheated.”_

_Spike stuck out his chin.  It was true, but that was beside the point.  He knew for a fact that they had been cheating as well.  He gave it one last try._

_“Not in the mood for trouble tonight, fellas,” he bluffed, flashing amber eyes at them threateningly.  "Now just bugger off like good little blood bags and I won’t have to get testy.”_

_Frankie’s lips twisted into an unpleasant smile.  He took several more steps forward, until he was mere inches from Spike’s face.  Spike bit back the bile in his throat.  The man was taller than him and was clearly enjoying the display of dominance._

_“Oh yeah? Whaddya gonna do?” he asked maliciously.  “Bite us?”_

_Spike’s heart sank as he realized the humans knew the humiliating truth about his chip.  He had been hoping to keep it a secret, but rumors were hard to control in a town this small.  He swallowed as it dawned on him that he was helpless._

_Frankie grinned down at him.  “Well?” he asked.  “What’s it gonna be, Spikey?”_

_Spike drew himself up to his full height.  He glared at Frankie, unwilling to give the mortal wanker the satisfaction of showing weakness.  “Go to hell,” he said fiercely._

_Frankie’s smile grew wider.  “I was hoping you’d say that.”_

_They didn’t need to hold him down, but they did anyway.  Spike did his best to maintain his pride throughout the beating, but he'd forgot how vicious humans could be.  They were delighted by his change in fortune and took their time with him, taunting him with every blow.  He snarled at them in full game face, but his efforts only drew further laughter._

_Several times he managed to pull away from the thugs who were holding him and take a swing at them.  The chip, however, did not distinguish between aggression and self-defense.  Every time he tried to punch his way out of the situation, it only punished him further.  That fact seemed to tickle them more than anything else.  In the end, all he could do was lie limply on the ground, waiting for it to end._  

_When they were finally done, Frankie leaned over him, pulling out a stake.  He held it Spike’s chest for a moment.  “I could do it, you know,” he said.  He leaned a little closer. “But you know what?  You’re not even worth killing.”_

_He stood up and unzipped his pants, relieving himself on Spike.  His companions followed suit.  It was a juvenile thing to do, but it had the desired effect.  Spike coughed and turned away in shame, wishing the Hellmouth would open and swallow him whole.  The men just laughed and left him there, covered in blood and urine._  

Spike tilted his head, considering Frankie.  The oily man took a nervous step back in recognition.  

“Spike…it’s you…thank God...” he rasped weakly.  “Tell her...tell her…it was just a little pocket change."

“Hello, Frankie,” Spike said in a quiet voice.  “Nice night for a spot of violence, innit?”

“N-no,” he shook his head vigorously.  “N-not looking for any more trouble!”

Spike’s lips twisted in cruel amusement.  “That’s too bad,” he said, sliding into game face.  “‘Cause I really am.”

Frankie’s eyes widened in alarm.  “Spike…buddy…we both know you can’t…”

Spike let his smile grow more sinister.  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said coldly.

A look of terror passed over Frankie’s face.  He stumbled backward, finding himself trapped against the brick wall of the building.  “N-no…” he whimpered.

The alley melted away as predator closed in on prey.  Spike could smell the sweat pouring out of the man’s glands grow cold with fear, mixing with the all-too-familiar scent of urine.  His demon roared in anticipation of the kill, and Spike was eager to satisfy it.  He leaned forward, mouth filling with saliva.  

“You know,” Spike continued softly, “they say that revenge tastes sweet.  But I bet your blood tastes like shite.”  He could hear the man’s heart hammering wildly. His smile widened.  “Guess I’ll have to choke it down anyhow.” 

“P-p-please…” Frankie whispered uselessly.  The vampire let his fangs dip toward the man’s throat, just inches from the deliciously pulsing artery.

“Spike!”

Spike blinked, suddenly remembering where he was.  He glanced to his left.  Buffy was standing just a few feet away, staring at him coldly.  He swallowed, realizing he had been just seconds from giving himself away.  As much as he might want to, he couldn’t kill the wretched man.  He looked back at his victim and gave a false laugh.

“Guess it’s your lucky night, Frankie,” he said in a louder voice.  He stepped back.  “Get out of here.  You’re not worth killing.”

Frankie ran.  Spike spat on the ground as he watched the man scamper away.  Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to face Buffy.

Her fist met his nose with a loud crack.

“What the _hell_ was that?” she demanded.

 

**********

 

Buffy couldn’t believe it.  The nerve of him, trying to attack someone right there in front of her!  Stupid vampire.  Stupid, evil, murderous vampire.  Stupid, stupid, stupid Slayer.  Stupid friendly behavior and stupid promises.  It had all made her forget what he really was.  She should know better.  Spike was a killer, through and through.

“I asked you a question,” she said fiercely, her fist shooting out again.  “What the hell was that all about?”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, lay off it!” Spike yelled, holding his nose with one hand and throwing the other up in surrender.  “S’not like I could hurt the greasy git.  Was just giving him a good scare, same as you.”

“You’re a rotten liar, Spike,” she growled.  “I saw your face.  You were going to bite him.”

Spike glared at her.  “Well, I wouldn’t have got very far, now would I?  Bloody chip’d put me in a coma.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him.  “You wanted to,” she accused.

Spike stuck out his chin.  “Yeah, I did,” he admitted.  “Not exactly the best of mates, me and him.  Wanker would’ve deserved it.”  He paused.  “But I didn’t hurt him.”

Buffy gave him a long look.  “You better hope that chip never comes out,” she said coldly.  She turned and resumed walking.  She felt him fall into step beside her.

The two of them were silent for several more blocks.  They passed through downtown quickly, and had just reached the edges of the more residential streets when Spike finally spoke again.

“It will someday, you know,” he said.

Buffy glanced over at him.

“The chip,” he clarified.  “Not gonna spend the rest of eternity getting my noggin zapped.  I’ll find a way to get it out eventually.”

Her stomach twisted into a painful knot.  “Then you’d better skip town when you do,” she warned.  “‘Cause I’d have to stake you.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to.”

Buffy gave a wheezy laugh.  “And in what universe would that be?” she asked.

He hesitated.  “I could swear off killing,” he said quietly.  “Don’t need to hunt humans to live.  Could even forego hospital blood, if it bothers you.”

She swallowed, an ache forming inside her.  “It would never work,” she whispered.

“Why not?”  He looked at her pleadingly.  “I’d give you my word.  You know I’m good for it.”

Buffy shook her head.

Spike raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t think I’ll keep my word?  You seemed pretty ready to trust it back at the mansion.”

She bit her lip.  It was true enough and that scared her.

“That was different,” she argued.  “I know you’d do anything to protect Dawn.  But this is something you can’t promise.”

“Why not?” he asked again, offended.

“You’d fail,” she said simply.  She looked down at the concrete in front of her.  “You don’t have a soul."

Spike looked away.  “Sod it all to hell,” he muttered.  “You and your bloody soul mania."

“It’s not a mania.  It’s just the way things are.”

“Says who?  Your Watcher?  The Wankers’ Council?”

Buffy swallowed.  “Angel,” she said softly.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, of course,” he said sarcastically.  “Well, if _Angel_ says it, it must be true.  The Great and Mighty Forehead speaketh for all vampires.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.  “You don’t know him.”

“Beg to differ there, luv,” Spike said.  “Known him a lot longer than you have.”

“No, you haven’t,” Buffy said.  “You only knew him when he was soulless.  He was a different person then.”

“Hate to break it to you, pet, but you’re wrong again.  Hundred some-odd years, I’ve seen him both ways.  Trust me, the only difference ‘tween my Angelus and your Angel is a sense of humor.”

“You’re wrong,” she said.  “Angel can be good now.  He has a soul.”

“‘ _He has a soul!’_ Spike mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

Buffy glared at him in annoyance.  “It makes a difference,” she insisted.  “That’s why you can’t promise not to kill humans.  You _don’t_ have a soul.”

“I have a _brain_ , Slayer,” he snapped.  “I can choose whether or not to kill.”

“Like you did tonight?” Buffy pointed out.

He winced.  “Tonight was a mistake.  I can do better.”

Buffy was silent a moment, her stomach churning unpleasantly.  She really didn’t want to have this conversation.  She wasn’t sure why, but the thought of having to stake Spike made her blood run cold.

“I wish I could believe that,” she said at last.  “But I don’t think you can.”

“Why not?”  This time the question was softer, more curious than angry.  “Not much of a thinker, but I do know the difference ’tween right and wrong.  Usually go for the wrong, but I  _know_ what it is.  So what makes you so sure I need some mystical spark to choose Team Right?"

Buffy hesitated.  She wasn’t entirely sure she understood that part herself.

“Knowing isn’t enough,” she said, wishing her voice was more certain.  “Your instincts are all evil, and without a soul you don’t care enough to keep them in line."

“I care that _you_ care!” he protested.  “That’s enough to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Really?  Because what I saw back in that alley says otherwise.  You were a second away from sending that chip of yours into overdrive.”

Spike was silent, his face dark and angry as he stared at the concrete in front of him.  “I let my control slip,” he admitted.  “Got a bad history with Frankie.  But if you knew half the things he’s done…” His voice trailed off for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and gave her a serious look.  “That oily prick’s no more innocent than me.  And he’s got that sodding soul you prize so much."

Buffy swallowed, unsure how to answer that.  It was true, she realized.  She may not have gotten Willow’s grades in history, but even she knew that most of the suffering in the world was caused by humans, not vampires.  It was something she tried not to think about very often.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly.  “But I still can’t let you kill him.  He’s human.”

“And that’s all that matters to you, innit?”  Spike gave a bitter laugh.  “Doesn’t matter what a human does—they’ll still get a pass.  But a demon?  One step out of line and it’s off with its head!”

“There aren’t any laws or courts for demons,” Buffy said defensively.  “Humans at least have a justice system to deal with criminals.”

“Then why isn’t Frankie behind bars?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised.  “Seems to me it’s all still tilted in his favor.  And anyhow, how’s life in prison the same as a stake through the heart?”

“California has the death penalty,” Buffy argued.  “He could be executed, if he’s convicted.”

Spike gave her a long look.  “At least he’d get a trial.”

Buffy looked down at her feet.  He had a point.  It was something she’d been thinking about a lot lately.  Truth be told, it had been part of the reason for her freeze-up with Anna earlier.

“I can’t operate like that,” she whispered.  “It would get me killed.”

Spike glanced at her again, but said nothing.  Buffy shook herself, trying to summon up her anger once more.  “And anyway, where do you get off lecturing me?  You kill your own species every night!  Now suddenly you’re the champion of demonkind or something?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Don’t give two figs for what happens to most of ‘em,” he admitted.  “Vamps I like—mostly just Dru—they matter.  All the others could dust for all I care.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then continued.  “Same with humans.  You and Dawn matter.  S’pose your Scooby pals do too, a bit.  Everyone else is just food.”

Buffy shuddered.  “That’s cold.”

Spike's lips twisted into a wry smile.  “Evil, pet,” he reminded her.  “Never claimed to be anything else.”  

Buffy didn’t know what to say to that.

They rounded the corner of Revello Drive and Spike stopped walking for a moment.  Surprised, Buffy stopped as well.  Spike looked at her seriously.  

“I know my standard’s arbitrary,” he said quietly.  “But...seems to me that yours isn’t any better.  And at least in my system, folks can move from one category to the other, if they earn my respect.  So the question is…what’s a vamp got to do to earn _yours_?”

Buffy struggled to look him in the face.  “It’s not a matter of respect,” she said, licking her lips nervously.  “You’re…you’re still evil.  You just referred to human beings as food.  I can't pretend that’s okay.”

“Maybe not,” he acknowledged.  “But they’re food I can take off the menu.”  He tilted his head.  "I’d only do it for your sake, you know.  Might not care about them, but I respect _you_.”

Troubled, Buffy looked down.  She shook her head.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I can’t risk that.  If you get that chip out, I can’t let you go free.  I’ll have to stake you.  I won’t want to…but I wouldn’t have a choice.”  Hesitantly, she looked up again and met his eyes.  “I’ll understand if that changes what you said back at the mansion.” 

Spike stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, some emotion she couldn’t read on his face.  Then he blinked away for a moment and swore beneath his breath.  

“God, but you’re a frustrating bint!”  He looked back at her again, and this time she could see that his eyes were pained.  He reached out and ran a tentative finger through her hair.  “It changes nothing,” he said sadly.

Buffy didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she released it.  “Good,” she said shakily.  “‘Cause we don’t really have time to duke it out right now.”

But Spike’s eyes had moved past hers to something far ahead.  They widened slightly and Buffy felt her heart skip a beat at his expression.  “Thought you told Niblet to turn out the lights,” he said in a strangled voice.

Buffy span on her heels. 1633 Revello Drive was just a few yards away.  Sure enough, the lights were still on…

…and the front door was open.

Her stomach plunged.  “Dawn,” she whispered, and started running.

The neighborhood melted away.  All that mattered was the house in front of her and the ground she needed to cover to get there.  She could feel Spike behind her, and through her fog, Buffy could hear him calling both her name and Dawn's in panic.  His voice faded as she crossed the threshold, however, and it faintly registered with her that he couldn’t follow her inside without a reinvitation.

But none of that mattered.  Because as Buffy burst into the living room, the first thing she saw was a lamp knocked to the floor.  She screamed Dawn’s name again, but no one answered.  Stumbling, she made her way into the kitchen and froze at the sight before her.  She felt her last link to the world around her slip peacefully away.  

The phone began ringing urgently, but Buffy ignored it.  Exhausted, she slid to the floor, her back against the wall.  Her face turned blank and empty as she stared at the message written in on the refrigerator in bright red lipstick.

_Thanks for returning my Key._


	9. Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really very sorry it's been so long since I updated this story. I've been out of the country with a weird wi-fi situation for a month and this is my first real chance to post since getting back. Hopefully I'll be able to update more consistently going forward.

Most of the time, being a vampire was brilliant.  In a world of slow-moving prey, vampires were swift.  Among weak mortals, they were strong.  They could see farther, hear better, and pick up scents a bloodhound would miss.  They were apex predators, in love with the chase and built for the kill.  

It was glorious fun.

There were dangers, though.  Crosses and blessed objects would sear Spike’s flesh.  The sun, which gave life to all other creatures on the earth, would incinerate him in less than a minute.  Fire would kill him just as quickly.  Even the branches of trees and bushes could prove deadly if he was not careful around them.  Truth was, for all the glamor of playing for the dark side, being a vampire meant being an alien on a perilous planet.  

It didn’t usually bother him, of course.  In fact, he rather liked the thrill of danger, the rush of having to fight for his existence.  But there was one part about being a vampire that Spike truly and deeply loathed.

Threshold barriers.

“Buffy!” he screamed.  “Dawn!  Buffy!  Someone answer me!”

But no one did.

“Buffy!  Buffy, what’s going on?  Is Dawn okay?  Buffy!”

Still nothing.  

Cursing, Spike strode across the porch to the living room window and peeked through.  All he could see was a broken lamp on the floor.  His stomach did a flip, and he banged on the window frantically.

“Buffy!" he yelled again.  “Buffy!"

This time, Spike could hear the phone begin to ring somewhere inside the house.  He froze, straining to hear whether Buffy was answering it.  It rang and rang and rang.  No one picked up.  It went to the answering machine, and he could hear Joyce's simple greeting.  But it was just a recording.  There was no indication that anyone had even heard the phone.  

Spike’s stomach did another flip.

“Buffy!” He ran back to the front door and threw himself against the barrier.  “Buffy!  Buffy!  Come on, Slayer, don’t do this to me!  Let me in!  Buffy!”

It was useless.  The house was silent.  The whole street was silent.  There wasn’t even a cricket chirping.

“Buffy!  Dawn!  Buffy!   _Buffy_! _”_ Spike’s yell had become panicked.  “DAWN!  BUFFY!"  Cursing, he threw himself against the barrier again, this time in frustration.  “ _BUFFY!_ ”

Nothing.  

Spike stood in front of the door, nausea churning inside him.  The lights were still on inside the house, their warm and inviting coziness making the situation seem surreal.  The door was half open, taunting him with his inability to enter.  He leaned against the barrier in despair.

_And I saw Tantalus too, bearing endless torture..._

Spike choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  Of course his mind would go bleeding Homeric on him whenever things fell apart.  Stupid ponce.

He couldn’t argue with the image though.  It seemed oddly appropriate, what with his girls trapped just a few feet beyond his reach.  For one wild moment, he wondered if he was in hell after all.  Maybe he was in the pits of Tartarus without realizing it, enduring some awful punishment reserved especially for soulless vamps like him.  Except someone had made a mistake.  Buffy and Dawn were being punished along with him...

Something inside him snapped at the thought.  He stood upright and glared at the door with all the dark force he could muster.

_“Fuck you!”_ he hissed at it. 

He threw himself out the barrier once again, the frustration of years—no, of a century—giving fuel to his anger.  He clawed at it desperately, pounded it with his fists, tried with every last ounce of his pent-up rage to beat the bloody thing into submission. 

Stupid invisible wall.

Stupid Watcher with his stupid scowl.

Sodding Scoobies with their closed circles and group hugs.

Sodding society toffs with their shrill laughter.

Bloody Dru and her bloody dolls.

Fucking Angelus and his artful kills.

Fucking Angel and his shiny soul.

He slammed himself against the barrier, over and over again, screaming expletives into the night.  But it wouldn't budge. Spike knew it never would.  He could throw himself at the threshold for hours.  He could come at with fist and fang, with sword or knife or one of Captain Cardboard’s bloody grenades.  He could come at it with one of his signature railroad spikes—and he had half a mind to do just that—but it wouldn’t do him any good.  It wouldn’t be enough.

Finally exhausted, he turned his back to the barrier, sliding to the floor of the porch.

It was never enough.

Across the street, he saw the curtains of the neighbor’s house move and knew he was being watched.  But it didn’t matter.  No one in this wretched town was going to help a stranger, especially one who couldn’t enter a human house.

“And fuck you!” he yelled at the curtain, but he had lost the will to keep screaming.

_Get it together, Spike.  Buffy and Dawn need you.  You've got to think of something._

But what?

Through the barrier, he heard the phone start to ring again in the kitchen.  He could picture it buzzing, there on the hutch right next to the entrance to the dining room.

Spike stood up.  There was another door around back.  It would be guarded by the threshold barrier as well, but so long as the mini blinds weren’t closed, he’d at least be able to see into the kitchen.  Maybe there would be a clue there.

Quickly, he circled the house.  Sure enough, the mini blinds were up and the bright light of the kitchen was pouring out of the window.  

He peered inside and his stomach plummeted.

The Slayer was slumped on the floor, her back against the wall.  A few feet away from her, the phone was still ringing frantically, but she made no move to answer it. Instead, she lay still, her head lolling in Spike’s direction.  Her face was slack, her expression vacant.  Her eyes were fixed on something just out of his sight, but were otherwise glassy and unfocused.

She looked…

_God, no!_  

The phone fell silent again.  Desperately, Spike pressed himself against the glass panel and listened carefully, grateful the threshold barrier didn’t block sound.  After a moment, he caught the faint sound of her heartbeat.  He let out an unnecessary ragged breath.

She was alive.

But why wasn’t she moving?  Her heartbeat was slow and unnaturally steady, as if she were sleeping.  Neither Dawn nor the doctor was anywhere to be seen.  A small part of him wanted to hope that was a good thing, but he knew that if Dawn was inside and capable of moving, she would be with Buffy already.  It boded ill that she was not anywhere nearby.

_One problem at a time,_ he told himself firmly.

“Buffy?” he called out tentatively.  “Buffy, can you hear me?”

Buffy didn’t move, or even blink.

Spike tried again anyway.  “Buffy, listen, if you can hear me, you need to invite me in.”

Still no response.

“Come on, Slayer, don’t be that way,” Spike begged.  “You can lock me out again later if you want.  I won’t even complain.  Just let me in now so I can help you."

Buffy continued to stare blankly at the thing he couldn’t see.

“Come on, Slayer, snap out of it,” he continued.  “We can’t help Dawn if you do this.  Just invite me in.  I don’t even need to hear the words.  Just whisper ‘em and that’ll be enough.”

But he might as well be talking to empty air.  Spike put his hand on the door.  The barrier was still in place.  He cursed in frustration.  This was just another dead end.

What the bloody hell was he going to do?

He could try an ambulance.  That was probably what a human would do, right?  Except…what if whatever was wrong with Buffy was magical?  What if it wasn’t something the docs could help with?  Humans with no knowledge of the supernatural might make things worse.

Bugger.  He needed a Scooby.

Spike closed his eyes and pressed his head against the back door, trying to focus.  His first choice would have been to try the Watcher’s flat.  The man might hate him, but at least he would know what to do about Buffy.  Unfortunately, Rupert had scampered off to London, so there was no help to be had from him.  The next option would be to try the witches.  But it had been a year since Spike had been on campus and he didn’t know if they were still in the same room he’d tracked down after the Initiative had caught him.  There was a good chance that if he tried them, he’d just spend several hours running around big institutional dorm buildings without any luck.

That left Harris.  Spike had never been to his flat, but…there was a phone booth just a few blocks east.  Maybe the boy would be listed?  It was worth a try.  

Glad to have a possible course of action, Spike flew down the street.  Moments later, he reached the payphone and began thumbing through the white pages.  But after only a few seconds, he threw the book down and slumped to the ground.  Eleven Harrises in the phone book and none of them was the right one.

_This is all your bloody fault,_ he berated himself bitterly.   _Had to go and show off, didn’t you?  Wanted her to be impressed that you’d found the bitch’s lair.  Insisted on checking it out, even with the Watcher gone.  Didn’t even think 'bout who would watch Niblet.  S’all on your sodding hands, you worthless git.  You’ve likely got both your girls killed._

Spike resumed his cursing, banging his head back against the metal pole.  Out of the corner of his eye, a rabbit darted from the bushes, startled by the commotion.  It stood on its hind legs and twitched its nose at Spike in confusion.  He let himself slide into game face and snapped at it viciously.  It fled.  Spike watched it go with hollow satisfaction.

Then he bolted to his feet.

Anyanka.

Anya lived with Harris.  And while the apartment probably wasn’t listed under her name, she _did_ work at the Magic Box.  Granted no one was there at this hour of night, but old Rupert was bound to have employee records with her number listed somewhere.  And Spike _could_ get past the door of the shop without any magical hindrance.

Spike took off at a sprint, grateful that breathing was an optional exercise.  He made it to the shop in ten minutes and, too impatient to bother picking the lock, broke down the door with a single frustrated kick.  Crossing the shop in a few quick strides, he leapt over the counter and began rummaging through the drawers.  A few minutes later, he found what he needed.  Reaching for the phone at the back of the shop, he dialed the number.

It was busy.

He swore and slammed the phone down.  Who would be calling Harris at this hour?

Probably the same person who was trying so hard to reach the Summers house, he realized.  Spike hesitated.  Every moment he spent running around was another moment no one was helping Buffy.  But he didn’t really have a choice.  He needed someone who could get inside the house.  Glancing back down at the paperwork, he noticed there was an address listed.

Hope spurted in his chest again.  Tucking the paper into his coat, he darted out of the Magic Box again. One way or another, he was going to find help.  

_Just hold on, Buffy,_ he thought.   _I’m coming for you._

 

***********

 

It was eight in the morning and England was beautiful.  Giles breathed a deep sigh of relief as he opened the doors that led from his hotel suite onto the balcony, grateful for once that the Council had not been stingy with its considerable resources.  Settling down at the small outdoor table, he cradled his teacup and inhaled the steam as he took in the view.

It was a quiet part of London, away from the hustle and bustle of commuters and tourists.  There was a small park below him, just across the street.  The Council headquarters loomed beyond it like a gloomy cloud, but the park itself seemed pleasant and far removed from the world of the supernatural.  Mothers were playing with their children in the grass.  Dogs were poking their noses around trees and bushes, tails wagging cheerfully as their owners looked on in annoyance.  Just at the park's edge, an older man was nodding off mid-way through his morning paper.  

Giles felt a stab of jealousy as he watched the man on the bench.  He missed the quiet life, living in Sunnydale.

Except that was not quite true, he reminded himself.  He'd had practically nothing _but_ quiet time last year, cut off as he had been from Buffy's new life at the university.  As it turned out, retirement hadn't suited him.  In fact, it had been terribly dull.  He had found himself desperate for something to do, something to fill his days with purpose.  It had been with some regret that he had quietly started to plan his return to England.

Yet the moment Buffy had asked him to resume her training, he had simultaneously been filled with renewed purpose and frustration.  The problem was that in the process of convincing himself that she did not need him anymore, he had tried to resign himself to the fact by focusing on the benefits of returning to his former life.  

And he had very nearly succeeded.  After all, he would have plenty of time to read, access to the Council's magnificent central library, and the annual apocalypse would no longer be his concern.  It also helped that when he ordered a tea at the Council headquarters, they brought it to him in a nice pot instead of a paper cup with a sad little bag steeped in lukewarm water, as Anya usually did.

Giles gave another sigh.  Why did the things he loved always insist on tugging him in opposite directions?  Why, with all the witches and warlocks in the world, had no one ever bothered to invent a way for a man to be in two places at once?  Why couldn't he be in both London and Sunnydale?

He glanced at his watch.  Still set on California time, it read just after midnight.  Giles hesitated, wondering if it was too late to call Buffy.  Ordinarily, he wouldn't dream of dialing someone at such an hour, but he had promised to let her know that he had arrived safely.  Besides, if the last five years had taught him nothing else, it was that young people kept entirely inhuman hours.  At any rate, Buffy did not normally finish her patrols before 11:30, even on a quiet night.

He set his tea aside and stood up reluctantly.  If he was going to disturb her, he'd best do it sooner rather than later.  There was a chance she was not asleep yet.  Retreating inside, he dialed Buffy's number on the bedside phone.  It rang several times, then went to the answering machine.

_"You've reached the Summers residence.  If we're not here, leave a message at the beep."_

The recording was brief and perfunctory, but the sound of Joyce's voice left a pang inside him.  Buffy and Dawn had never got around to changing the message.  Perhaps they simply couldn’t bring themselves to do it.  Giles hung up without leaving a message.

He pursed his lips.  It was strange, and slightly worrisome.  Buffy should be home at this hour.  Even if she was already in bed, she likely would have heard the phone ringing.  And Dawn was also in the house.

Perhaps Buffy was still in the shower.  

Yes, that must be it.  She frequently came back from her patrols covered in monster blood.  Of course she would want to clean up before turning in for the night.  And Dawn...well, perhaps Dawn was a deep sleeper.  At any rate, it was silly to start fretting about it.  

Shaking himself, Giles returned to his tea on the balcony, trying to force himself to relax.  But his tea had gone cold and one of the children in the park was having a tantrum.  His worry grew into a headache.  Perhaps a shower was a good idea for himself as well.  He could try Buffy again afterward.

Ten minutes later and feeling considerably better, Giles sat down at the bed and dialed Buffy's house a second time.  Once again, the answering machine picked up.

This time, he decided to leave a message.  "Hello, Buffy," he said quickly.  "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I wanted to let you know that I have arrived.  I hope you and Dawn are both alright.  If you get this message, please give me a call as soon as possible."  

He left the hotel number and hung up the receiver, trying to quell the uneasy feeling that was developing in the pit of his stomach.  It was probably nothing.  There were hundreds of perfectly legitimate reasons why no one at the Summers residence was answering the telephone.

But of course...there was also one terrifying potential reason.

Unsettled, Giles finished dressing.  He needed to pull himself together.  He was here on business.  He couldn't afford to let Quentin see him so shaken.  It would only invite unnecessary questions.

And yet he couldn't quite dislodge the feeling that something might be terribly wrong in California.  

Lacing his shoes, he stood up and stared uncertainly at the phone for several minutes. If Buffy was sound asleep, trying her again would be unkind.  Giles knew quite well how exhausting her life could become at times.  The poor girl deserved to rest.

On the other hand, if something had happened to her...

He paced across the room several times, glancing back at the phone uncertainly.  Finally, he gave in to his worry and dialed again.  When he got Joyce's answering machine a third time, he slammed down the receiver and swore under his breath.

Then he tried again.  And again.  And again.  And again.

There was no answer.

Something was wrong.  Something _had_ to be wrong.  Even if they were tired, even if they were angry, eventually either Buffy or Dawn would answer the bloody phone.

Panic filled his chest.  Why had he insisted on leaving them, now of all times?  It had seemed a logical idea when he had first posed it to Buffy.  Now, in retrospect, he wondered how he could have made such a colossally stupid mistake.  He could do nothing for her this side of the Atlantic.

_Think, Rupert, you fool!  Now is not the time to lose your head.  Work through the problem.  There's a solution somewhere.  You simply need to find it._  

Willow.  He should call Willow.  Her magical skills were still unrefined, but she had power and good sense.  If something had happened to Buffy or Dawn, she was the best person in Sunnydale to keep the situation under control until he could get there.

Hand shaking, Giles began flipping through the cards in his wallet.  Surely he had Willow's number buried it in somewhere. He'd dialed her dorm room before, though it had been over a year ago.  He hadn’t needed to call her much lately, as she and Tara were so frequently at the Magic Box.  He combed through the cards carefully, looking for something familiar.  

But it was useless.  Whatever he had done with the number, it wasn't with him.  Giles threw the wallet aside in frustration.

This meant he would have to involve Xander, something he would have preferred to avoid.  It wasn’t that he disliked the boy.  Xander had heart enough, and he could be courageous when courage was needed, but he was also hot-headed.  If he knew something was wrong with Buffy, he was likely to run off half-cocked and make a bigger mess of things.  He was, ironically, a bit like Spike in that regard.

However, it seemed that Giles had no choice but to call him.  He _did_ know Xander's landline.  Anya called the Magic Box from it nearly every morning.  Reluctantly, he dialed the number.

Xander picked up on the third ring.  “Wwwwhooowhhaaahunnh?”

“Xander, it’s me,” Giles said quickly.  “I’m sorry, I know it’s late there, but I really need your help.”

“G…gi…giles?” The name came out slowly, as if Xander was still struggling to comprehend the waking world.  “What-what time is it there?”

“It’s early morning, and as I said, I’m very sorry, but I need you to check on Buffy for me.”

“W…what?  Uhhhh...'kay,” Xander yawned.  “I’ll...call her...in the morning…”

“Wait, Xander, no!” Giles shouted, as he realized the boy was about to hang up.  “I need you to check on her _in person_.  I think she and Dawn might be in trouble.”

There was a shuffle on the other end, and Giles realized he finally had Xander’s attention.

“Buffy’s in danger?” Xander asked, his voice more alert than before.  “What’s wrong?”

“She isn’t answering her phone,” Giles explained.

There was a pause.

“Uhhhh…Giles?  You _do_ know what time it is, right?  I mean, call me crazy, but she might just be sleeping.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said hastily.  “It was terribly rude of me to call...but I _did_ call and she did not answer.”

“Maybe she didn’t hear it.  Because it’s…you know… _late_.”

“I called seven times,” Giles said shortly.

There was silence on the other end as Xander processed that information.

“I’ll drive by her house,” he said at last.  “See if there’s anything fishy going on.”

“Thank you,” Giles said, relieved.  “Do you happen to know what she was doing this evening?”

“I dunno…it was just patrol, right?” Xander said.  “Hold on, I need to tell Anya I’m going.”

There was another shuffle and Giles could hear him whispering with Anya.  He was listening so intently that he almost jumped when there was a knock at his own bedroom door.  He let out a sigh.  It was probably housekeeping.  He covered the receiver.  “Sorry!  One moment, please!”

He returned his ear to the phone just in time to hear Xander give a shout of his own.  “She did _what?_ ”

“Xander?” Giles fought to keep his panic at bay.  “What’s going on?’

Xander picked up the phone again.  “Anya says Buffy went with Spike to look for Glory.  She says she heard them talking about a demon rumor or something.”

“Oh, God,” Giles said.  He sat back down on the bed, suddenly weak in the knees.  “Xander…Xander, if Glory has Buffy…”

“I’ll find her,” Xander promised.  “I just need my keys.  I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Xander, no!  You need to call Willow and Tara.  You need back up!”

“I’ll call them from Buffy’s house!” Xander said distractedly.  “I’ve gotta go now!”

“But—“

“Hold on,” Xander said shortly.  “There’s someone at the door!”

Giles heard the receiver drop unceremoniously on a hard surface.  There was shouting in the background.  It sounded like…

There was a knock again at his own door, this time louder.

“Yes, yes!  Just give me another minute,” he called again.  He returned his attention to phone.

Xander picked up again.  “Giles, I gotta go.  Spike’s here.  He says Buffy and Dawn are both in trouble.  I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“No, Xander, wait!” Giles shouted.  “It could be a—“   _Click_.  “—trap.”

Giles stared at the receiver, wide-eyed.  This was Spike’s doing.  It had to be.  He had lured Buffy into thinking he was an ally and then dangled a false lead in front of her eyes.  And desperate to protect Dawn as she was, she had fallen for it.  Giles closed his eyes.  He never should have left her alone.  She was too vulnerable right now, between dealing with her mother’s death and trying to keep her sister alive.  If he had been there, he could have warned her against believing Spike’s story.

He bit his lip.  Once again, a vampire had wormed his way into Buffy’s trust.  And once again, he had let it happen.  God!  Would he never learn from his mistakes?  He had failed Buffy once again, and this time it might very well prove fatal.

And now Spike was leading Xander into the same trap.

There was another knock at the door, this time more insistent.

“Coming,” Giles said dully. He shuffled to the door and opened it.

Then he blinked.  There were at least ten people crowded outside his hotel suite, dressed in various shades of tweed.  In the center stood a short man with cold eyes and a frozen smile.

“Hello, Rupert,” Travers said politely.  “So good to see you again."


	10. Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from Blood Ties, Weight of the World, and The Gift.

Giles was stunned.  He had been scheduled to meet with Travers privately later that afternoon, but he had not been prepared for such a large contingent to show up at his hotel room before ten o’clock.  For a moment, he simply stared at them in disbelief.  Then he shook himself, forcing his face into a mask of neutral calm.  It wouldn’t do to let Travers to see him ruffled.

“Quentin,” he said evenly.  “This is a surprise.  I was not expecting you so soon.”

“My apologies,” Travers replied smoothly.  “I do hope I’m not inconveniencing you.  I merely wanted to ensure that you were situated comfortably.”

Giles lifted an eyebrow.  “How very kind of you.”  He glanced at the crowd in the hall.  “I had no idea my arrival warranted such a large welcoming party.”

“Yes, well, the Council is very eager to hear about the lead you mentioned.  I am certain your information will help us find Glory’s Key before she does.”  Travers gestured toward the room.  “May we come in?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have time to talk,” Giles said shortly.  “There’s been an emergency and I must return to Sunnydale at once.  Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to book a flight back to Los Angeles.”

He started to close the door, but Travers put a hand on his arm.  “Come now, Rupert,” he said lightly.  “You’ve only just arrived.  If there’s an emergency at the Hellmouth, the Council should be briefed about it before you go running back to California.  We are working for the same ends, are we not?”

Giles sighed.  “Are we?  I can’t always be certain, Quentin.” He glanced at the door.  “At any rate, I really do not have time to talk.  Buffy is in danger and I need to return home at once."

“Is that so?” Travers said calmly.  He took a step inside, brushing past Giles as he did so.  The other Watchers followed suit, crowding themselves into the room.  Giles licked his lips nervously.  This was looking less like a welcoming party and more like an interrogation with each passing minute.

“Strange that the Slayer should be in danger,” Travers continued, running his fingers lightly across a windowsill.  “She seemed so confident when we saw her last.  What was it she told us?  Something about how she had...all the power?”  He turned back to Giles, an unpleasant gleam in his eyes.  “Perhaps she has overestimated her own strength.”

Giles felt his own expression stiffen.  “Buffy _is_ powerful,” he said coldly.  “You’d be a fool to think otherwise.  She has proved herself time and time again.”

“Be that as it may,” Travers answered, “she is still only one cog in a vast operation.  We all have our duties to fulfill.”  He turned to the Watchers crowded around him.  “Lydia,” he snapped.  A woman that Giles recognized from the Sunnyvale visited jumped slightly.  “I could do with a cup of tea.  I’m sure Rupert would like one as well.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” Giles said shortly.  “And I really do not have time for this.”  He tried to leave the room once more, but one of the burlier Watchers blocked his path.

“Make time,” Travers said simply.  He glanced at the woman again.  “Lydia, the tea.”

“B-but sir," she stammered.  “I don’t think—“

“Lydia,” he repeated, a warning note in his voice. 

Lydia paused in her protest, staring at Travers with wide eyes.  Her face flushed a bright red, but she gave a curt nod.  She picked up the hotel’s complimentary tea kettle and made her way to the small sink, embarrassment stamped across her expression.  Despite his panic, Giles watched the exchange with interest.  When the Watchers had been in Sunnydale, Lydia had seemed just as intimidating and antagonistic as the rest.  But if Travers was making her fetch refreshments, something must have happened since then.  Somehow it seemed she had lost status within the organization.

“Now, where were we?” Travers said, interrupting his thoughts.  He had settled into the corner armchair of the room, his arm resting on the nearby table.  “Ah yes, duty.”

Giles perched himself on the edge of the bed, unwilling to stand while Travers was seated.  “ _My_ duty is to Buffy,” he said firmly.  “And I will be unable to fulfill it if you do not allow me to return to Sunnydale at once.”

“Your duty is not to the Slayer alone,” Travers answered.  “The Watchers have the safety of the entire human world to consider.  This is our Cause, and the reason for the Slayer’s existence in the first place.  Never forget that.”

“I am well aware of it,” Giles snapped.  “But at the moment, the safety of the world and the safety of my Slayer happen to coincide—which is why I must return as soon as possible.”

“And what disaster has befallen the Slayer this time?”

Giles hesitated, unsure how much information to give Travers.  Swallowing, he answered slowly, “I have reason to believe that Glory may have kidnapped her.”

There was a quiet murmur among the Watchers, but they fell silent as Travers shot a stern look at them.  “And what leads you to believe this?”

“No one has been able to reach her,” Giles said quietly.  “And my shop assistant has informed us that she went looking for Glory several hours ago.”

Travers raised an eyebrow.  “And why would she do such a thing when her Watcher is not present?”

_Because she doesn't answer to me, you self-satisfied prick_ , Giles felt like responding.  But he knew better than to let his control slip around Travers.  Biting his lip, he admitted reluctantly, “I believe she was following a tip from Spike.”

There was a clatter behind him as Lydia fumbled with the tea cups.  Giles saw Travers' eyes flick towards her briefly before returning to meet his own.  “Spike the vampire?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And has Spike acquired a soul like Angel’s?”

“N-no,” Giles said slowly.  “He has not."

“Then why would a Slayer trust a vampire’s word?  Does she not possess basic common sense?”

Anger prickled at the back of Giles’ spine.  He bit back another retort.  “Spike has proven useful in the past,” he said with as much calm as he could manage.  “He has a chip which renders him harmless to humans, and so offers information when it suits his mood.  I am sure that Buffy exercised appropriate caution when considering his report.”

“I rather doubt it,” Travers said.  “She would not be in danger now if she had.”  He leaned forward.  “Rupert, from what you have told me, it sounds as if you have _already_ failed in your duties.  You have allowed your Slayer to be led astray by yet another vampire and so endangered us all.  This Spike should have been eliminated years ago.  Clearly, Ms. Summers has a blind spot when it comes to the creatures she has been called to kill.”  He sat back, glancing at Lydia briefly again.  “It is your responsibility to ensure that she is not deceived by a charming face.”

Giles narrowed his eyes.  “Buffy is not a fool,” he said quietly.  “Nor is she blind.  If she shows mercy to Spike, it is because she judges him harmless.  If he has indeed betrayed us, she will have no compunction about dusting him once she is out of danger.  And if she does not, I assure you I will.”

Travers considered him for a moment.  “I am glad to hear it,” he after a moment.  “It is refreshing to see that you have not lost all sense of perspective, Rupert.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Lydia placed a steaming teacup next to Travers.  He picked it up without thanking her and held it to his lips.  “It means some of us still wonder about your commitment to the Cause.”

Giles raised an eyebrow.  “If you are referring to what happened two years ago, I feel obliged to state that it is in the best interest of the world that the Slayer remain alive and in good fighting condition and not be hampered archaic and unfair trials.  In my opinion, my actions served the Cause far more than yours did.”

He sat back and accepted a cup from Lydia.  She gave him a significant look as she handed it to him, discreetly tapping the paper napkin with her finger.  Confused, Giles took a sip of the tea and pretended to dab his mouth with the napkin.  There was something written on the back.

_I know about the Key._

Giles froze. Wh-what the bloody hell was going on?  What did she mean?  Did Lydia know about Dawn?  Did she know what Glory wanted with her?  Why hadn’t she hadn’t said anything to Travers about it?  Why was she trying to alert _him_?  Was it some sort of elaborate trap?  Or…or was this the ally he had been seeking?

Setting the cup back down, he looked up at her quickly.  “Thank you, Lydia,” he said, trying to read her face.  “The tea is lovely."

Lydia blinked nervously, but met his gaze and nodded.  “You're very welcome,” she said, before retreating back to her place with the other Watchers.

Giles glanced back at Travers.  He was still sipping his tea calmly.  He hadn’t appeared to have noticed anything.  Sneaking a glance around the room, Giles saw that none of the others had either.  Cautiously, he slipped the napkin from the saucer and tucked it inside his trouser pocket, keeping his eyes fixed on Travers.  He took another sip of tea, forcing himself to relax.  Whatever was going with Lydia, it was clear that she was not able to speak freely in front of Travers.  And if she really did know Dawn’s identity, then it was best he play along as if nothing had happened.  He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“I’m afraid you have misunderstood the purpose of the Cruciamentum, Rupert,” Travers was saying.  “Testing the Slayer’s inventiveness and ability to overcome handicaps is part of it, yes.  But the Watcher’s test is different.  He must be willing to stand by and allow the test to continue without intervention.  Not because it strengthens her, but precisely _because_ it does not.”

A queasy sensation pricked at Giles’ stomach.  “Come again?”

Travers set aside his tea.  He turned to the Watchers standing around him once more.  “Some privacy, please, gentlemen?  I’d like to talk to Rupert alone for a few minutes.”

The Watchers glanced at one another in confusion, then slowly shuffled toward the door.  When they were gone, Travers pulled his chair closer to Giles’ perch on the bed.

“Let us speak frankly, shall we?” he asked.

Giles hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Good," Travers said quietly.  He glanced at the door briefly, then began to speak.

“The Slayer is a soldier,” he said.  “And a soldier’s duty is simple.  She must obey orders.  She must fight the enemy ruthlessly, without the doubts and inhibitions that come with killing.  She must believe in the absolute depravity of her foe and the rightness of that for which she fights.”  

Giles swallowed uncomfortably, unsure where this was going. 

“But you and I are educated men,” Travers continued.  “We know the world is not so simple.  And so a Watcher’s duty is heavier.  If a Slayer must be prepared to sacrifice her own life, a Watcher must be prepared to sacrifice the lives of others.”

“How terribly burdensome for us,” Giles said, his sick feeling growing stronger.

Travers ignored the undertone of sarcasm.  “It is indeed a burden,” he said calmly.  “We must, in a sense, become what we fear.  We must be willing to do what others will not, to wage a dirtier war, to do evil so that good may thrive.  This is the level of commitment to the Cause that a Watcher must demonstrate.  This is what the Cruciamentum tests in us.  This is where you failed.”

Giles shook his head.  “I do not consider my behavior a failure,” he said.  “And I do not see how participating in a murder attempt against Buffy did anything for the cause of good.”

“It would have established that you were prepared to sacrifice Ms. Summers,” Travers told him.  “To sacrifice anyone, if need be.”

Giles blinked.  “I-I do not understand.  Feeding an innocent girl to a monster like Kralik…how could that be anything but repugnant to basic human decency?"

“It could not,” Travers answered.  “That was the point.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

The corners of Travers’ mouth twitch slightly, and Giles got the distinct feeling he was being patronized.  He wondered briefly if punching the smug prick would get him out of this conversation any faster. 

"The Cause isn’t about what’s right or wrong,” Travers said.  His voice was calm and smooth, almost matter-of-fact.  “It is not about morality.  It’s about survival.  Our survival.  The survival of the human race.  And if the death of one girl accomplishes that, then so be it.”

Giles felt his stomach drop to the floor.  For a moment, all he could do was stare at Travers in utter horror.

“Can you really be so heartless?” he whispered finally.

Travers’ eyes glinted, grim and cold.  “Am I heartless?” he asked.  “Am I really?”  

He stood up and crossed the room, opening the door that led to the balcony.  He motioned to Giles.  Hesitantly, Giles stood up and joined him outside.

“Look,” Travers said, gesturing downward.  “Look at all the people on the streets.  Imagine if their survival depended upon the death of one person.  Would it not be worth it?”

Giles watched the people going about their business on the streets below, oblivious to the men above them.  He bit his lip, unsure how to answer Travers.

“I know you, Rupert,” Travers said softly.  “You are a practical man.  You would do whatever it took to protect the world.”  He clapped him on the shoulder, slipping into the barest hint of a smile.  “I suppose that means you’ve passed the test after all.  Congratulations.”

Giles gaped at him.  Travers turned to leave.

“It was good to see you again, Rupert,” he said politely, stepping back into the room.  “I’ll have Lydia book you a return flight to California this morning.”

And then the audience was over.

 

**********

 

It was late May, but Dawn was shivering.  She sat in the corner of a barren room, rubbing her arms with stiff and icy fingers.  Teeth chattering, she wondered if it was any warmer outside.  Maybe there was some enchantment on this place, some spell to keep her trapped here that also made it seem colder.  

Or maybe it had nothing to do with the room at all. Maybe it was just fear.  Or maybe it was something else.  Maybe it was because she was just too skinny.  Maybe it was just a weird Key thing, some flaw in the magic the monks had done to create her.  Maybe one of them had sneezed mid-chant or something, and messed things up.

Dawn let out a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  To think, all the hard work the monks had put into their spell was about to go to waste.  Glory was going to bleed her in some freaky ceremony tomorrow night.  Dawn didn’t understand the whole thing, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it meant for her.  

She was going to die.

The room seemed to get even colder at the thought.  Tears picked the corners of her eyes, but they didn’t fall.  Dawn wished they would.  She’d probably feel a bit calmer afterward.  She always did.  But she couldn’t force the tears to come.  She just sat there, shuddering in a dry cry and wishing she didn’t have twenty-four whole hours to think about the fate she couldn’t escape.  

Maybe it would be better if Glory just killed her now.  Then it would all be over.

_Don’t think like that!_ she scolded herself.   _Buffy’s coming for you.  It’s a good thing there’s still a lot of time.  It means she can find you and kick Glory’s butt and then you can both go home and get in your PJs and fix popcorn and watch a movie._

Except that wasn’t true, was it?  Glory was a lot stronger than her sister.  Buffy had even admitted as much several times in the past few months.  Until recently, Dawn had managed to avoid thinking about it.  But after Glory had kidnapped Spike, it had suddenly hit home.  After all, he was a badass vampire.  Dawn knew that Buffy wouldn’t patrol with him every night if he wasn’t a good fighter.  But look what Glory had managed to do to him!  And if she could do that to Spike, she could probably take on Buffy as well.

Dawn shuddered, not wanting to imagine what Glory might do to her sister.  Maybe it would be better if Buffy didn’t find her in time.  At least one of them should survive tomorrow night.

The door creaked open, making Dawn jump a little.  The minions had been in and out several times, muttering to themselves and throwing ashes on her forehead and bustling about making preparations she didn’t really understand. 

But this time it was Ben who entered the room, a bundle of cloth tucked under his arm.  Dawn swallowed, not wanting to see him.  It still freaked her out, the way he had turned into Glory in the blink of an eye.  It was hard to believe that it had happened once before without her remembering it.  But the minions assured her that there had been some sort of memory spell in place at the hospital.  For some reason, it didn’t seem to be working anymore.

“How are you holding up?” Ben asked softly.

Dawn didn’t answer.  She stared at the floor in front of her, refusing acknowledge him.

“Umm…I brought you a dress,” he said awkwardly.  “It’s for…for the ritual...I mean...for tomorrow night.  You don’t have to put it on right now, but…”

His voice trailed off as Dawn continued to stare at floor.  Clearing his throat in discomfort, he set the bundle of cloth on the ground next to her.  “Let me know...if…if you need anything…”  He started to leave.

“It’s red,” Dawn said suddenly.

“Wh-what?”

“The dress,” she continued, picking at her shoelaces.  “It’s red.  I don’t wear red.  It doesn’t look good on me.  You wear it.”

Ben’s face flushed slightly.  “Look, I’m really sorry.  I wish there was another way…”

Dawn looked up for the first time, meeting his eye.  “And I wish you’d fall on your head and drown in your own barf,” she said dully.  She gave a small shrug and looked down at her sneakers again.  “So I guess we’re both disappointed."

“I think…I think it’ll be quick.”

She looked up again, disgusted.  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I guess not,” he said with a swallow, looking away.  “But…for what what’s worth…I’ll do what I can…to…to…”

Suddenly, Dawn couldn’t take it anymore.  “Change,” she said coldly.

“Wh-what?”  Ben looked startled.

“Change.  Be her.  I don’t want to look at you.”

Ben hesitated.  “Dawn, I don’t think you wanna—“

Dawn stood up, glaring at him.  “Be Glory,” she hissed at him.  “Be Glory.  Glory!  Glory!  Glory!”

“Look will you just—“  But it was too late.  His face shifted.  “—stop shouting already?” Glory finished for him.  She blinked and looked around her, eyes settling on Dawn in surprise.  She walked casually across the room and picked up the small bundle of clothes on the floor next to Dawn, shaking them for inspection.

“So…what’s the hubbub, bub?” she asked nonchalantly.  “What do you got against old Benji?”

Dawn was silent for a moment, leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed.  “He’s a monster,” she said finally.  She opened her eyes and looked over at Glory.  “At least you’re upfront about it.”

Glory’s face grew strangely gentle for a brief moment.  “Don’t be so hard on the boy,” she said quietly.  “He just wants to live.  Most guys would do the same.”  

“Not every guy,” Dawn insisted.  “Not everyone throws other people under the bus just ‘cause they’re scared."

“Oh?” Glory raised an eyebrow.  “Name one guy with the balls to choose different.”

It was a dangerous answer, but Dawn had nothing left to lose.  “Spike,” she said, jutting out her chin.  “Spike stood up to you.”

Glory’s eyes hardened.  “Your little bloodsucker friend?”

Dawn nodded defiantly.

“I could have dusted him,” Glory snapped.  “It would have been easy as breaking a twig.”

An image of Spike’s battered face flitted through Dawn’s mind.  She swallowed, knowing that Glory was telling the truth.  With a shudder, she wondered if the hellgod planned on doing the same thing to her before it was all said and done.  Maybe it wasn’t going to be as quick as Ben had promised.

“Maybe so,” she conceded, not wanting Glory to see how shaken she was.  “But that just shows how brave he was.  He didn’t tell you anything about me.  He’s a better person than Ben.”

Glory snickered.  “He’s not a person at all,” she said in amusement.  “Isn’t that what you little goody-two-shoes humans believe?  Isn’t that why the Slayer exists?  To kill all the evil, evil monsters?”

Dawn hesitated, not sure how to answer that.  Glory’s smile grew wider.  She plopped down on the floor across from Dawn, legs sprawled casually.  

“You know, I don’t get you and your sister,” she said.  “Hanging out with a vampire, I mean.  I bet he’s done all sorts of evil things—things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.  Things _Ben_ couldn’t imagine.  That bleached-out leech has probably killed hundreds of girls just like you.  And Ben has probably saved dozens of lives, what with all the time he’s spent skulking around the hospital.  So if all your little rules and morals matter so much, why does the vamp get a free pass and Ben doesn’t?"

Dawn was silent.  It was true.  She didn’t like thinking about it, but Spike had done a lot of really bad stuff in the past.  She could still remember the story he had told her about the girl in the coal-bin, the one Buffy had interrupted.  He had changed his ending as soon as her sister had shown up, but Dawn hadn’t been fooled.  She knew that the little girl had probably met a gruesome end.  At the time, she had found it all kind of exciting…in a weird, Halloweenish sort of way.  It hadn’t seemed real.

God!  How awful was she?  Maybe she deserved to die for forgetting that the coal-bin girl was a real person too.  Maybe she really was evil at heart.

Almost as if she could read Dawn’s thoughts, Glory gave a little smile.  “Well, I guess I can understand in your case,” she said.  “You’re not the Slayer with all her holier-than-thou crap.  You’re the Key.  You belong with _me._ ”

“That’s not true,” Dawn said quickly, her stomach tightening.  “Back at the hospital…you said…you said the Key wasn’t evil.”

Glory’s smirk grew deeper.  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she said.  “The idea that you might be evil.”

Dawn looked down at the ground in front of her, shame and nausea turning her insides upside down.  It bothered her very much.  She had tried to push back the horror most of the time, but the fear had been there, gnawing at the back of her mind, ever since she had found out the truth that night at the Magic Box.

“Yes,” she whispered finally.  Desperately, she added, “But you said I wasn’t.”

“I said ‘not really,’” Glory clarified, tossing her hair slightly.  “It all depends on your point of view."

Dawn stared up at her in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

Glory shrugged.  “It’s all just made up, anyway, isn’t it?” she said.  “Good. Evil.  Morals.  They’re just ideas humans came up with to keep themselves from ripping each other apart all the time.  They don’t mean anything, when you really get down to it.”  She snickered again.  “And they never seem to realize that the whole system is rigged to make themselves feel better.”  She looked over at Dawn.  “It’s so easy for them just to think ‘oh, _we’re_ the good guys, those folks over _there_ are the bad guys!’  It’s all so nice and convenient.”

The nausea inside Dawn skyrocketed and she began to feel faint.  It couldn’t be.  If good and evil didn’t matter…that meant...it meant _anything_ was okay.  Even murder.  She shuddered.  It would be better if she really _was_ evil than for something like that not to matter all.

“You’re wrong,” she said weakly.  “The world isn’t that way.”

Glory gave another laugh.  “The world is exactly that way.  Tell me it’s not true.  ‘Evil’ is always the other guy.” She gave Dawn a patronizing look.  “ _I’m_ wrong?  Honey, I’m the original one-eyed chiclet in the Kingdom of the Blind.”

Dawn shook her head.  “I don’t believe that.”

“No?” Glory raised an eyebrow.  “Tell me—did your sis ever mention the Knights of Byzantium?  ‘Cause they were pretty damn sure that _you_ were evil.  They were here in Sunnydale to kill you.”  She smiled.  “Luckily, I took care of them first.”

 A memory flitted across Dawn’s mind, a man dressed with a strange symbol on his forehead in mental ward of the hospital.   _The Key is the link_ , he’d said.   _The link must be severed.  Such is the will of God._

“Tell me, if evil isn’t just the other guy, why were they so gung-ho about killing you?” Glory asked, inspecting her long fingernails.  “They thought you were evil, you and your sis probably think _they_ were evil and it’s all ring-around-the-evil-rosy.”

Dawn swallowed.  “I don’t know if I’m evil or not,” she said, straightening a little.  “But don’t you dare talk about Buffy that way!  She’s not evil.  She’s a hero.”

“Then why does she hang out with a vampire?” Glory asked skeptically.

“Spike…” Dawn hesitated.  “Spike doesn’t kill anymore.”

Glory snorted.  “A vampire who doesn’t kill?  How lame is that?  Did he become a vegan or something?”

“No…it’s just..he…” Dawn hesitated “…he can’t kill.”

“Why not?” Glory asked curiously.

“He has a…a chip,” Dawn said.

“A chip?  What, like a Dorito?”

For a moment Dawn gaped at her, then she snorted.  

“No, stupid, like a computer chip.  The government put it in his head.” 

“Why you—“ Glory huffed, her face flushing dangerously.  Then an ominous gleam entered her eyes.  “Wait, did you say it was in his head?”

Dawn froze.  Had she just given Glory a weapon against him?   _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she berated herself.  There was no telling what Glory could do to Spike with that information.

But instead of questioning her further, Glory started laughing.

“Oh, honey!” she giggled.  “That is just too _sweet."_  

“Wh-what is? Dawn asked, trying not to panic at the hellgod’s reaction.

Glory gave a mysterious smile and left the room.  A moment later she returned, carrying a small handbag.  She pulled something out of it and held it up for Dawn to see.

“Did the chip look like this?” she asked.

Dawn blinked.  She swallowed hard in shock, eyes transfixed by the sight of a small silicone chip.  There were still traces of dried blood crusted on it.  How on earth...

“Took it out of him when I had him last,” she said.  She smiled cruelly.  “He screamed like a five-year-old girl.”  She tossed the chip at Dawn.  Dawn caught it.  “Your bloodsucker said it was the Key,” Glory continued.  “Guess I have to hand it to him.  It was a clever lie.”

Dawn stared at the chip in wonder.  All this time…ever since Glory had tortured him…he had been chipless.  That meant…it meant…what?   _What_ did it mean?

“Guess the fun times are over,” Glory smirked.  “The little leech is back on Team Evil.  Ben isn’t looking so bad after all, is he?"

“You’re wrong,” Dawn said, this time with more strength in her voice.

“Come again?”

Dawn looked up at her, her eyes shining.  She took a deep breathe, trying to force her swirling thoughts into coherent sentences.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated.  “This doesn’t prove Spike’s evil again.  It proves he’s been sticking around to help Buffy even when he could be off slaughtering people.  It means he protected me under torture, and that he hasn’t given me up even though he could.  It means he’s _choosing_ to do good. _”_

Glory narrowed here eyes.  “You don’t know that.  He could be sneaking kills in on the side.”

“Maybe,” Dawn conceded.  “If you’re right, then that’s very evil.  And any good he’s doing wouldn’t excuse it.”  

Glory looked ready to give another crow of triumph, but Dawn cut her off.  She stood up, meeting the hellgod squarely in the eye.

“But I don’t think he is.  I think Buffy would have noticed by now if he were killing again.  But even if I’m wrong…and even if the good stuff doesn’t excuse the bad stuff…it doesn’t change the fact that helping Buffy and protecting me was still _a good thing to do_.”  

Glory stepped back in surprise.  

“See that’s what I wasn’t getting before,” Dawn continued, "with all your crap about right and wrong not meaning anything.  You think they’re meaningless because people use them to make themselves feel superior to others?  Well, it’s true—people do that.  But they shouldn’t.  Because good and evil really _do_ mean something.  They’re _not_ just words for people we like and people we don’t like.  They’re not about who you are—they’re about _what you do_.”  She took a step forward, conviction rising in her chest and giving her courage.  "That’s why what Ben did to me was wrong, even if he’s done a lot of other good in his life.  And that’s why Spike protecting me was right, even if he’s done a lot of evil in his life.  Good is still good, even if bad people do it.  And evil is still evil, even if good people do it.”

Glory looked dumbstruck.  For the first time that night, Dawn gave a small smile of victory.  Suddenly she wasn’t cold anymore.  “Good and evil isn’t about us and them,” she finished quietly.  “It’s about me and me—my heart, my choices.  And if this chip proves anything, it’s that no one is trapped in one side or the other.  They can change, for better or worse.”

Something twitched in Glory’s eyes.  “Demons don’t change,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Spike can,” Dawn said confidently.  “Maybe not without some help, but he can.  And I think he is."

“How do you know that?  How can you know for sure that he isn’t off eating other little meat-sacks like you?”

“I trust him,” Dawn said simply.  “Just like I trust Buffy…and Giles and Willow and Xander and Tara…and even Anya.”

“Trust is for chumps,” Glory said.  She shook herself, seeming to regain some of her control.  “And…funny thing…you’ve been here for a few hours now, and I haven’t seen big sis galloping in to save you.  She probably knows what a terrible mistake that’d be.”

Dawn straightened.  “She’s not afraid of you.”

“Oh no, sweetie baby,” Glory said, her smug demeanor fully restored.  “I’m talking about the ritual. 'Cause you know…I bleed you..the portals open.  But once you die, they close.  The faster you die, the better for your sorry species.”

Dawn’s stomach plummeted once again.  She swallowed.  Glory took a step closer and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek.  “I’m betting Buffy knows that,” she said softly.  “And since she’s not really your sister, I’m guessing she isn’t gonna show.  And if she does…” Glory’s hand drifted to Dawn’s hair.  She grabbed a handful, yanking her head back and staring straight into her face.  “…it might not be to save you.”  She let go and turned to leave.  She paused by the door.  “So much for goodness and trust.”

Dawn watched as Glory stalked out of the room.  The door gave a harsh slam as she left, jolting her.  She stared at it blankly for several minutes.  Then she slumped to the floor.

“Buffy,” she whispered.  “Buffy, where are you?"


	11. Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines taken from The Weight of the World.

Xander stood in front of the door to 1630 Revello Drive, fighting down nausea.  The door was wide open and the light was on, just as Spike had said they would be.  It was strange, he thought, how such a welcoming sight could seem so eerie and frightening.

“Tell me again,” he said, licking his lips nervously.

“Told you all I know, mate,” Spike answered.  “Slayer’s in the kitchen.  Not moving.  Not responding.  Staring off at something on the other wall.  Couldn’t see anything more.”

“But she’s not…”

“She’s not dead,” Spike said quickly.  “Put my ear up against the back door.  Her heart’s still beating.  S’just really slow, like she’s asleep or something."

“And D-Dawn?” he asked, voice shaky.

He saw Spike swallow hard and look away.  “Don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.  “Didn’t see her anywhere.  Figured that couldn’t mean anything good.”

It almost certainly didn’t, Xander realized.  Even if Dawn had managed to hide from Glory, she would have returned to the house for Buffy as soon as she could.  The fact that she wasn’t here meant she was either kidnapped or…or…Xander didn’t want to think about the alternative.  

Only on the hellmouth could being kidnapped ever count as the hopeful option.

“You going in or not?” Spike asked pointedly.

Xander tried to glare at him, but he was too scared to summon up much venom.  “Yeah, I am,” he said.  “Just…if Glory’s still in there…”

“There hasn’t been a peep out of the house all night,” Spike said, cutting him off.  “I’ll meet you at the back door.” 

“But what if….?” 

It was too late.  Spike took off before he could raise any objections.  Xander inhaled deeply, praying Buffy and Dawn were both still alive.  “Here goes nothing,” he whispered, stepping inside.

The house was dead silent.  Xander peered up the stairs, but it was dark.  All the lights seemed to be coming from the downstairs.  He stepped into the living room and saw the lamp sitting on the floor.  His stomach did an uncomfortable flip.  There were playing cards laying neatly in two piles on the coffee table, as if both players had time to set down their hands.  But there was no one to be seen.

The cold feeling inside him grew stronger as Xander rounded the corner and saw a small, slumped form sitting against the kitchen wall.

“Buffy!” he whispered, his throat dry.

She didn’t answer.  Xander knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder.  Her skin was cool and clammy, but that might just be because she was sitting on the kitchen floor.  He shook her shoulder gently.  “Buffy,” he said again.

There was still no response.  Xander checked her pulse.  It was slow and steady, just as Spike had said.  Her chest was also rising up and down with shallow breaths, but her eyes remained glassy and unfocused.  Xander waved his hand in front of them, but she didn’t even blink.  Biting his lips uncertainly, he tried pinching her arm.  Still no reaction.

A loud banging at the back door made him jump.

“Oi, Harris!” Spike shouted.  “What’s going on?”

Xander stood and quickly opened the kitchen door.  “Shhh!” he snapped.  “Stop your shouting!  I don’t want to give her a scare if she wakes up.”

“So she’s asleep then?” Spike asked, fists balled against the doorframe.  “Just like that?  After running into the house?”

“I dunno,” Xander said, his stomach doing somersaults.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“What about Dawn?  Did you see her in the house anywhere?”

Xander shook his head.  “I didn’t see her anywhere downstairs, although I still need to check the dining room…”  His voice trailed off as something on the refrigerator caught his eye.  It was a message, written in bright red lipstick.

_Thanks for returning my Key._

He froze, then swallowed slowly.  “G-Glory has Dawn,” he said shakily.

“ _What?_   How do you know?  What do you see?”

Xander told him.  Spike stared at him for several minutes, the whites of his eyes plainly visible.  

“Bugger,” he whispered finally, looking away.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Xander agreed.

Spike glanced past him at Buffy.  His jaw tightened and without warning he slammed his fist into the side of the house.  Xander jumped.

“What about her?” Spike asked.  “Do we move her?  Call the medics?”

Xander turned his attention back to Buffy.  Truth be told, he had no idea what to do.  Buffy and Willow and Giles were usually the ones who came up with all the decisive plans.  Most of the time, he just went along with it all.  “Maybe,” he said doubtfully.  “But I mean, if we take her to a hospital and Glory’s on the move…”

“…it’s not exactly the safest place for her, now is it?” Spike finished.  “Glory’s already hit the hospital once."

Xander hadn’t really been thinking along those lines, but nodded anyway.  “I guess.”

“What about the witches?  Could Red help?”

He nodded.  Yes, that was an idea.  Call Willow.  She would know what to do.  Xander reached numbly for the phone and dialed.  Willow picked up on the third ring.

“Will!” Xander said urgently.  “Something’s wrong with Buffy and Dawn’s missing.”

“Wh-what?” 

Xander told her everything.  He could hear her shuffling around, Tara’s voice murmuring in the background.

“We’re on our way,” Willow said.  “Be there in fifteen minutes.”

Xander hung up.  He could feel Spike staring at him from the back door.

“They coming?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “We just have to wait here for them.”

Spike muttered a curse under his breath.  “I hate waiting,” he said.

“Me too,” Xander admitted.  He slumped against the kitchen island, sitting just across from Buffy.  Spike paced across the back porch, fidgeting.  Xander saw him reach inside his pocket, pull out a cigarette and light it.

“Take it away from the house, man,” Xander complained.  “Some of us have to breathe, you know.”

Spike glared at him.  “Don’t give a bloody—“

“I’m not talking about me,” Xander interrupted.  He pointed at Buffy.  “Her breaths are shallow enough as it is.  Somehow I don’t think it’s going to help anything if all she’s breathing in is second-hand smoke.”

Surprisingly, that comment seemed to give him pause.  “Right,” he said, more softly.  “Prob’ly shouldn’t then.”  He stamped out the cigarette and returned to pacing.

Xander watched Spike curiously.  It was kind of weird how he couldn’t summon up his usual levels of simmering hatred towards the vampire.  Maybe it was just because he was so scared about Dawn and Buffy that he didn’t have room for any other emotion right now.  Maybe it was because Giles and Willow weren’t here and Xander was overwhelmed with being the primary decision maker.  Maybe he just couldn’t afford to be picky about his allies when the people he loved were in trouble.

Or maybe…

Maybe it was because Spike seemed as scared as Xander felt.  Maybe it was because it was comforting to have someone there to share the panic.  Maybe…the thought unfolded in him mind with shocking certainty…maybe it was because Spike clearly _cared_ about Buffy and Dawn.

Or at least as much as a vampire could.  Which wasn’t much, right?

But it was something at least.  Xander knew that Spike didn’t like him very much.  Fair enough.   Xander hated his guts as well.  But when he’d found out Buffy was in trouble, he’d set all of that aside and came knocking on Xander’s door anyway.  And Xander had come, not even pausing to question him.

In retrospect, that surprised him.  It had occurred to him briefly in the car that this might all be a trap.  After all, Spike had managed to manipulate them that way last year.  Xander supposed that was what Giles had been trying to warn him against as he’d left the house.  But for all that he couldn’t stand the guy, Xander knew that if there was a set-up going on, Spike wasn’t in on it.  No one could fake being scared that well.

Not even a vampire.

“Did you check upstairs?” Spike asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Xander shook his head.  “I glanced up there when I came in,” he said.  “It was dark.”

“Should check it anyway,” Spike said.  “Might be some clues up there.  Or the doc might be hiding in one of the bedrooms.”

“The doc?”

“Ben,” Spike said.  “Brown hair.  Blue scrubs.  Stupid smile.  Buffy hired him to be Dawn’s sitter for the night.  Assuming he didn’t just run away screaming, he’s probably either with them or hiding somewhere close by.”

“Oh,” Xander said.  He glanced up at the ceiling. “Everything’s been really quiet.  Surely he would’ve come down by now if he was here.”

“Couldn’t hurt to check,” Spike said with a shrug.  “‘Least it’s something to do till the witches get here.”  He shuffled his feet a bit.  “I’d do it myself, but…” He placed his hand against the barrier.

Xander felt a sudden flash of pity.  It was awful, not being able to help someone you cared about.  It was a feeling he knew all too well.  He stood up.  “Okay, I’ll check.”  He glanced down at Buffy.  She was still breathing lightly.  “Call for me if something seems wrong?” he asked.

Spike nodded.  “I’ll watch her.”

Xander headed upstairs, passing through the empty dining room.  He headed for Buffy’s room first.  It was clean and empty.  The bed was made and the windows were shut and locked.  He checked under the bed and in the closet, but no one was there.

Xander left Buffy’s room and went across the hall to Dawn’s.  Her room was considerably messier, with papers all over the desk and the bed unmade.  But if Buffy’s complaints were any indication, that had been the case ever since Joyce had died.  Any at any rate, she was a teenager, so an unmade bed didn’t mean much. Xander still didn’t make his own, much to Anya’s annoyance.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss in Dawn's room, he checked the bathroom briefly and then headed to the master bedroom.  The door creaked slightly as he opened it.  The girls had been keeping it shut ever since the funeral.  Xander reckoned he was the first person to enter it in several weeks.

It was a weird feeling, walking into a dead person’s room.  The bed was made perfectly.  A book that Joyce had been reading was still sitting on the nightstand, her eyeglasses propped on top of it.  Xander doubted anyone could hide in the wardrobe, but he opened it just to make sure.  All of Joyce’s clothes were still inside, hanging neatly on their hangers.

The queasy feeling in his stomach returned.  Joyce’s death had been so sudden. And so recent.  And now Dawn and Buffy…what if they…God…what if all three of them were to die, just weeks apart?

There was the slam of a door and the sound of female voices downstairs.

“BUFFY!” Willow shrieked.

“She’s not dead!” he heard Spike yell.

Xander ran downstairs.  “Will!  Thank God you’re here.”

Willow and Tara were both still in their pajamas.  Tara was even in slippers.  They must have left in a rush.

“What’s wrong with her?” Willow asked tearfully.

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Xander said.

“Oh.”  Willow’s face fell a little.  “Well, Giles isn’t here.  We could…ummm…I guess we could call Angel…”

“No!”  Xander and Spike shouted in unison, making Tara jump a little.  “No need to get the bloody prick involved,” Spike added.  “He’ll just make a bigger mess of things.”

Xander gave Spike a glance of appreciation.  Maybe the blond vampire wasn’t so bad after all.  

“But…” Willow seemed ready to protest.

“LA is still too far away, Will,” Xander interrupted.  "And I think the fewer people we involve, the better.  Isn’t there anything you could do?"

“Umm…well...I think she’s in shock, and she’s not really sitting right...so…so we should move her,” she said hesitantly.  “Unless…unless we shouldn’t...”  She looked around at Xander and Tara, her voice getting a little higher in pitch.  “Should we?” 

“That could make things worse, couldn’t it?” Tara said nervously.  “I think I’ve read that somewhere.”

“I am so large with not knowing,” Xander said helplessly.  “I mean, do we really have a choice though?  We can’t just leave her here.”

“Maybe we could move her upstairs…or to the couch…”  She looked around, seeming to regain a little bit of confidence.  “I…I know a spell.  I can try to reach her.  I just need to go by the Magic Box to pick up a few things.”

“Maybe we should move Buffy to the Magic Box,” Tara suggested.  “We do have Xander’s car.”

“Yes!  Let’s move her to the Magic Box,” Spike enthusiastically.  “That makes sense, right?”

“I dunno…” Willow said doubtfully.  “That’s a lot of jostling around.”

Spike’s face fell slightly.  It dawned on Xander that Spike wanted Buffy moved because he’d be able to be closer to her.  He felt another flash of sympathy.  

“I can drive carefully,” Xander told Willow.  “And anyway, it might be better if she’s closer to all your ingredients.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Willow said hesitantly.  “Okay, let’s just be really careful.  Is there something we can use to carry her to the car?”

“Ummm…” Xander looked around, trying to think of something.

“What about a comforter off one the beds?” Spike asked.  “Wasn’t that how you carried me a few weeks ago?”

Xander blinked.  He’d forgotten about that.  It surprised him a little that Spike even remembered, given how badly he’d been injured.  He’d only woken up once during the trip from Glory’s apartment to his crypt and he’d been half-delirious at the time.

“That would work,” he nodded.  “Dawn’s is pretty soft.  We can make a stretcher out of it.”

“That’s good!” Tara said encouragingly.  “This…this is good.  We have a plan. W-we can figure this out.”

Xander hesitated.  “Except…what about Dawn?”

There was silence for a moment as they all looked at one another helplessly.  Spike shuffled his feet on the back porch and blinked several times.  “One battle at a time, Harris,” he said quietly.  “We won’t get far against Glory without Buffy at our side.”

“Spike’s right,” Willow said, though her voice was still a bit shaky.  “Our first priority should be to get Buffy back together.  Then we can figure out how to get Dawn back safely.”

“The sooner, the better,” Tara added.  “We’d better get moving."

Several minutes later, Buffy was wrapped in a fluffy down comforter.  Xander took one end and Willow and Tara took the other, handing it over to Spike as soon as they made it out the back door.  Together, they laid Buffy carefully in the back seat and Xander started the ignition.

In all of their efforts, no one heard the phone inside the house ring one last time.

 

**********

 

Giles cursed under his breath as the phone rang.  Why the bloody hell could no one in Sunnydale be bothered to answer the damn phone?  Surely Xander had made it to Buffy’s house by now.  Surely he was with her.  Surely he knew what was going on.

Unless…unless it was indeed all a trap.  Unless Giles had sent him straight to his death.

_Don’t think about that right now, Rupert,_ he chided himself.   _Just focus on getting back to California as quickly as possible._

He sighed as the answering machine picked up for the millionth time that morning.  Giles didn’t bother leaving a message.  His plane would be boarding soon, so it was unlikely that Xander would be able to reach him anyway.  He replaced the receiver and turned to exit the telephone booth.

A woman was standing just behind him.

“I beg your pard—“ Giles blinked several times as he saw her face.  “Lydia,” he said in surprise.

“Rupert,” she said, giving a polite nod.  “I was hoping I could speak with you before you left.”

Giles glanced about the terminal.  There were several businessmen in sharp suits waiting in his gate, but none of them looked remotely like Watchers.  For the most part, the rest of the travelers seemed to be families.

“Travers doesn’t know I’m here,” Lydia said.  “He’s already back at headquarters.  I-I don’t think I was followed, but it would be best if we were someplace more private.”

Giles hesitated.  “Right,” he said.  He pointed at a small cafe nearby.  “Would that work?  I would prefer not to go far from the gate.  We will be boarding shortly and it’s very important that I make this flight.”

“I understand,” Lydia said.  “I only need a few minutes.”

They settled at a table toward the back of the cafe.  Giles noted that there were only two other customers, a French couple who were too absorbed in an argument to pay them any notice.

“Just two teas, please,” he told the waitress, watching carefully as she left.

Lydia fidgeted nervously, looking around her.  She wouldn’t look Giles in the eye and seemed to be struggling with where to begin.

“I assume this is about your note?” Giles prompted.  “What information do you have about the Key?”

“The Key…” she whispered.  “Yes…the Key.  The Key is…well…it’s a person.  They made her into a person.  The monks did.  A-a girl.  We never saw her.  She’s…she’s…” Lydia glanced up, meeting Giles’ eyes briefly “…the Slayer’s sister.”

There was silence.  Lydia looked away again.  Giles was stunned.  How had she known?  He’d hardly even had the opportunity to let the truth slip out, even by accident.  What was going on?  Was this some sort of trap that Travers had laid?  Was Lydia just fishing for information she could report back to him?

Or was she the ally he’d been hoping for?

Giles considered her for a moment.  He didn’t know Lydia Chalmers very well.  He’d heard that she was a dedicated researcher and decent scholar.  She must have high aspirations and considerable talent, given that Travers had chosen her to accompany the Council entourage to Sunnydale.  But if his treatment of her in the hotel earlier had been any indication, something must have caused friction between them in the past few months.  If that was the case, she could be the perfect person to be his eyes and ears on the Council.

At any rate, it seemed that the universe was forcing his hand.

The waitress returned, bearing a pot of tea and two cups.  Giles waited until she had left again, before leaning in closer to Lydia.  “Dawn,” he said quietly.  “Her name is Dawn.”

Lydia’s eyes widened and her lips parted slightly.  “You knew?” 

“Yes,” he said simply.  “Though to be honest, I’m astonished that you do.  How on earth did you find out?”

She poured her tea and held her cup carefully.  “I have some contacts in Prague,” she said, rather reluctantly.  “They told me about the Order of Dagon.”

_“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,”_ came a female voice over the intercom.   _“We are now ready to welcome our first class and VIP passengers aboard British Airways Flight 283 to Los Angeles.  Thank you._ ”

Giles ignored the announcement.  International flights always took some time to board.

“Contacts?” he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion.

Lydia’s cheeks flushed a slight pink.  “I…I was doing some research after our visit to California,” she said.  “I don’t know if you recall, but my thesis was on…”

“Spike,” Giles finished.  “I remember.” He hadn’t been there to witness the Council’s interrogation of Spike, but he did recall that she had insisted on being included before they had gone to his crypt.  It had surprised him until he had heard about her thesis.

“Yes, well,” she swallowed “I was a bit…befuddled… by his behavior in Sunnydale.  I hadn’t even been aware that he and Drusilla had parted ways.  So, I decided to investigate further.  And I began with the last place I knew he had visited before he became entangled with your Slayer.”

“Prague.”

“Exactly,” she said.  “My contacts there…well, they’re a bit unsavory…the Council doesn’t fully approve...”

“You mean they’re demons.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “As it turned out, they knew quite a lot about Glorificus.  Apparently, she had made a rather forceful impression upon the demon world by slaughtering the monks.  It was all my contacts wanted to talk about.”

_“Attention British Airways Flight 283 passengers.  Group One is now welcome to board.”_   Giles checked his boarding pass.  He was in Group Four.

“But you kept this information to yourself?” he continued.

She nodded.  “As you may have noticed, Travers and I have had a bit of a falling out.”

“Because of your research contacts in Prague?”

Lydia shook her head.  “It’s true that Travers doesn’t approve of fraternizing with demons.  He prefers to capture and torture potential informants if he wants something from them.  But he’s willing to overlook my methods as long as they get results.”  She set her tea cup back on the table.  “No, our issues started as soon as we left Sunnydale.”

“I can’t imagine that Travers was pleased with the way things turned out,” Giles said drily.

“No, he wasn’t,” Lydia said with a tight smile.  "Your Slayer humiliated him in front of his entire inner circle.  He was looking for someone to blame.”

“And he chose you.”

Lydia’s embarrassment seemed to deepen.  “Apparently, some of my colleagues felt my behavior during our interrogation of Spike was…unbecoming,” she said slowly.  “I-I spent several years researching Spike and Drusilla and…and I got rather invested in my research, so..so when I met him, I-I let my nerves get the best of me and…” her face went from pink to deep red “…and I giggled a bit.”

She looked down at her cup hurriedly.  Giles suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  What was it with women and Spike?

_“Group Two may now board Flight 283 to Los Angeles."_

“So you became Travers' scapegoat,” he concluded.

Lydia nodded.  “He said I had disgraced the entire Watcher’s Council,” she whispered.  “That I had let my… _hormones_ …interfere with my judgment.”

Immediately, Giles felt ashamed at his own hasty assumption.  Of course Travers would say something like that.  “In other words, he judged you female and therefore convenient to blame,” he said softly.

She gave a slight shrug.  “More or less."

“Prick,” he muttered.

Yes, he is.”  Lydia sighed.  “At any rate, you don’t have to worry about me mentioning anything to the Council about the Slayer’s sister.  Knowing Travers, he’d probably want the poor girl eliminated just to ensure Glory won’t be able to use her.”

“That had been our fear as well,” Giles admitted.  “Else I would have told you all much earlier.  The only thing we don’t know is _what_ precisely Glory wants with her.  I had hoped—“

“That I can help you with,” Lydia interrupted.  She leaned closer to him, whispering urgently.  “There are rumors in Prague…rumors about a ritual.”

_“Group Three is now welcome to board Flight 283 to Los Angeles."_

Giles’ heart began to pound.  “What sort of ritual?” he asked.  “Lydia, do you know what Glory wants?”

Lydia shook her head again.  “No,” she said, giving him a grim smile.  “But I know where you can find out.”

 

**********

 

Giles darted across the airport terminal, ignoring the startled glances of harried travelers.  By a sheer stroke of luck, the lone telephone user hung up just as reached the booth.  Frantically, he dialed Buffy’s number again.  Surely, someone would pick up now.

They didn’t.

“Oh, sod it all to hell,” he muttered, slamming the receiver down.  He punched the wall in frustration.

_“Group Four is now free to board Flight 283,”_ the announcer said primly.   _“Now boarding Group Four.”_

Giles pressed his head against the glass.  Buffy needed to know this.  Or whoever was still available in Sunnydale.  It couldn’t wait until he got back to California.  If Lydia was right, then this may be their one good chance to stop Glory.

If only he could get one of them to answer the bloody phone.

Looking down, Giles counted his change.  He could only make one more phone call.  If he didn’t get through to someone, Dawn wouldn’t be the only one in danger.  There might not be a California to land in by the time he got there.

But who could he call? 

He inserted the change and paused momentarily.  Then, hesitantly, he tried a different number.

This time someone answered.

Five minutes later, Giles hung up the phone in relief.  Maybe—just maybe—this could work.  Maybe Buffy and Willow and Xander could pull this off, if they just managed to get his message before something happened to Dawn.  

_“Final boarding call for Flight 283 to Los Angeles_ ,” the announcer called out.   _“All remaining passengers please make your way to the jet bridge.”_

Giles cursed and started running.  There was no more time for maybes.


End file.
